


Black Sheep

by Heronfem



Series: No Church In the Wild [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bar Room Brawl, Canon Trans Character, Enthusiastic Consent, Falling In Love, First Time Bottoming, Jazz Clubs, Light BDSM, M/M, Motorcycles, One instance of misgendering in C4, Oral Sex, Past Dubious Consent relationship, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-04-16 10:07:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4621305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heronfem/pseuds/Heronfem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen met the love of his life in a jazz club bar fight, and if that didn’t say something about his life he wasn’t sure what did.</p><p>Or, the one where The Iron Bull is a mob boss, Krem is still his lieutenant, Haven is a crime riddled mess, Cullen works for the Inquisition Law Offices and has no idea what he's getting himself into, and Dorian would really like Mob Wives of Thedas to stop calling him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Gin Wigmore's "Black Sheep"
> 
> Dedicated to Nyagosstar, who put this whole damn thing in motion, and mizuki73, who's been such an enthusiastic cheerleader. You're treasures.

It was raining hard and heavy when he climbed out of the cab, the neon from the lights of an area of town he probably shouldn’t have been in just bright enough to see him to the door. It was a rather nice club for being in the center of a rundown block, and a man in a neat uniform took his coat at the door. He let his eyes adjust to the smoky room as his coat was whisked away, smiling when he caught sight of Vivienne preparing on the stage. They didn’t get along well, but she had invited him and he did enjoy jazz. He descended into the pit, hiding his nerves. Years in the Templars kept him from making friends easily, and small talk wasn’t his forte.

There were people in vaguely skimpy clothing everywhere, a dance floor packed before the stage, and Cullen had no idea where to sit, stand, or carefully lean.

He passed the bar just in time for someone to bash a bottle over someone’s head, and his decision was made for him as he was swept up in the chaos. He dodged two punches, blocked a third, and flipped one of the new fighters who’d been pushed into retaliating. In the blink of an eye, he was helping subdue the closest fighter, neatly taking down the instigator as a booted foot with what looked like crusted blood on it pinned the other to the floor. Cullen looked up with his hand halfway behind his back to grab handcuffs that weren’t there, and his mouth went dry.

A handsome man with an undercut in perfectly fitted black slacks and a neat white shirt rolled to the elbows and open at the collar looked down at him, a smile curling on his lips as he exhaled. His shirt revealed tattoos on his chest, a flash of color against the white, and from his elbows down were elaborate black stripes and whorls. Cullen kind of wanted to stay on his knees for the rest of time, and a few people looked like they were seriously contemplating offering to become furniture for him.

“Well, well, well,” he said, his voice surprisingly sweet and smooth. “What have we here?”

The bartender nodded to the instigator. “That one decided the one you’ve got was looking at his girl a bit too hard.”

“I wasn’t!” the other protested. “I’m married!” He waved his hand a bit, and the tattooed man pushed his foot down harder.

A dramatic sigh alerted them to a newcomer in a slick red suit with inky black lapels, golden reticulated shoes on his feet. “My my, what is this?” He looked them over, and Cullen was both impressed and unnerved by the sleek black mustache he wore. “Our dear Iron Lady is not going to be happy about the commotion.”

“Tell Bull to calm her down,” Tattoos said, unimpressed. Mustache sniffed, turning his eyes on Cullen. “And don’t, Dorian. Leave him alone.”

“Fine, fine,” Dorian said, waving his hand. “Toss the problem child and come tend to your boss.” He sashayed away, light glinting off the wide variety of jewelry he wore, and Cullen looked back to Tattoos.

“What would you like me to do?” he asked quietly, and the man smiled, eyeing him like he was a particularly interesting and tasty steak. 

“Stay on your knees for me for the rest of the night, to start,” he drawled as Cullen turned bright red. He turned to the bartender. “Blackwall, you got this?”

Blackwall nodded, coming around to grab the ruffian and haul him bodily away. Cullen stood, dusting himself off as Tattoos let the other up and shooed him away. 

“So, tall blond and exceptionally good looking, what’s your name?”

Cullen blinked. That was new. “Um. Cullen. Cullen Rutherford.”

“Well, Cullen Rutherford, I’m Cremisius Aclassi. Call me Krem, please.” He stuck out a hand and Cullen took it, only to go pink when Krem raised it to kiss the back. “Charmed.”

“I. Oh. Um.” _Good job, Cullen, the very picture of eloquence. Bravo._

Krem grinned, not letting go of his hand. “You meeting anyone here, Cullen?”

“No?”

“Care to join me?”

And that was how Cullen ended up in a very comfortable curved booth with Krem, Dorian, and a Qunari double his size in a tuxedo.

“So,” the Qunari said cheerily as Krem ordered drinks for both of them, Cullen meekly accepting despite the outrageous cost, “Krem de la krem, what did you pick up?”

“Oh, hush,” Dorian scolded, smacking his hand against what appeared to be a solid wall of muscle. His nails, painted black and rather sharply pointed, gleamed in the half light of the club. “Be nice.”

“I’m nice,” the Qunari said in mock offense. “Just curious.”

“Cullen Rutherford,” Krem drawled, leaning back and draping his arms over the curve of the booth. Cullen resolutely wasn’t drooling at the sight of his biceps bulging under the soft white shirt. “And that’s the extent of my knowledge.”

“Hi,” he managed, feeling utterly awkward. Dorian looked charmed.

“So, how did you end up here?” The Qunari asked. 

“I work with Madame de Fer,” Cullen said, nodding to the stage. “And she doesn’t much care for being told no, so when my coworkers had to cancel, I ended up being the representative.”

Krem grinned, and Cullen shivered a little as fingers ghosted over the back of his neck. “You must work for the Inquisition Law Office then.”

“I- yes,” he said, puzzled. “How’d you know?”

Dorian chuckled, smoothing down his lapels. “I work there too.”

“What? Where? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you,” Cullen said, baffled. He relaxed a little bit, fingers twitching as Krem’s fingers played with the short hair at the back of his neck. 

Dorian laughed, sipping what looked like champagne. “You wouldn’t. I’m head of the Archives, and I go out of my way to keep well away from the lime light at work, much as it pains me. There are certain people who would be more than willing to try and convince me to hand over what I know, or threaten my friends and loved ones. Here, though.” He waved a hand around at the dancers, the lights, the velvet. “Here, in this seedy little underbelly, I can be myself. Inquisitor Lavellan and I are close, so he turns a blind eye to my more exotic interests.”

“Is jazz exotic in Tevinter?” Cullen said slowly, confused.

“He means me,” the Qunari grinned. “I’m The Iron Bull, by the way. Article included. Also Krem’s boss, but that’s another matter entirely.”

“Though it’s not so much the Qunari who’s exotic, as what he does,” Dorian drawled, clinking his glass with The Iron Bull’s. Krem just sighed.

“Ignore them,” he advised, and Cullen cautiously leaned back into his arm as the lights flickered a little and Vivienne took center stage. Krem’s fingers moved up, nails running along his scalp, and Cullen relaxed. He glanced at Krem, who flashed him a grin in the darkness, leaning in to murmur, “Relax, handsome. You’re so tense if I bent you over I think you’d break.”

Cullen went pink, ducking his head to hide his face, but settled back against Krem’s side. As Vivienne sang, others got up to dance, spinning beautifully across the floor, and he felt some of the tension slide away.

To his surprise, Dorian nudged The Iron Bull, and the two of them took to the floor. The Iron Bull was surprisingly light on his feet, and Dorian made for a graceful partner as they navigated the dance floor without much trouble. Vivienne actually smiled at the sight of them, and Krem laughed as the two bowed to each other at the end of the piece. The next was much faster, and half the floor cleared out so the two could jive, Dorian’s golden shoes flashing as they did.

“Do you dance?” Krem asked, and Cullen nodded.

“I have a pretty basic grounding.”

The next song started up, a bright, warm big band sound swelling to fill the room, and Krem grinned at him. “How well do you follow, handsome?”

Cullen went pink. He’d never danced in public, barely danced in private, but here was a devastatingly handsome man who wanted to dance with him.

“ _Really, Cullen, take the night and enjoy yourself,”_ Josephine had said as she fussed with some paperwork. “ _I wish I could go dancing. It has been far too long, but this work won’t manage itself.”_

Really, he owed it to Josephine to dance for her. He slid out of his seat, and Krem grinned, following. He let himself be pulled out onto the floor and into the foxtrot. Krem was shorter, though not by much, and Cullen tried not to blush too hard as they danced. Krem was good at what he did, pulling him in closer, and by the time they sat down Cullen was truly relaxed. Krem laughed when Cullen almost timidly offered to buy the next round, waving him off, and Cullen couldn’t help smiling as Krem’s arm draped over his shoulder.

When Vivienne finally finished to thunderous applause, Krem paid up and led them out of the club, Cullen quickly fetching his jacket before following. There was a gaggle of talkative girls that giggled as Krem passed, watching him with admiring eyes, and Cullen stuck just the tiniest bit closer.

“So,” Krem said, grinning as they walked down to a large, bulky motorcycle with sleek lines. A helmet sat innocently on the seat, aggressively shaped and matte black. “You drive here?”

“Took a cab,” Cullen admitted, shoving his hands in his pockets. At least the rain had stopped, finally. Now the street was lit up, the puddles reflecting back the neon signs of the strip club across the street. 

“Well, if you want, I’d be more than happy to take you home. To either yours or mine.”

Cullen went bright red as Krem pulled on motorcycle gloves from the saddlebags, as well as a rather form fitting leather jacket. “Are…are you propositioning me?”

Krem stopped, turning to look at him with a grin. “Fuck, you’re adorable. Yes, I absolutely am. Or at least, I want to get your number and show you a good time another day. Or I could just drive you home, and back out of your life entirely.”

“I…” Cullen stepped forward, and said weakly, “your place, I think.”

Krem’s smile widened, and he beckoned him forward with two fingers. Cullen stepped up as Krem leaned on the motorcycle, and smiled a little shyly as Krem slid his fingers under his chin.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey,” Krem replied, eyes bright with amusement. “Kiss me?”

Cullen leaned in, kissing him sweetly, and when he pulled away Krem looked a little surprised. “…What is it?”

“I wasn’t sure you would,” Krem said, climbing on and pulling the matte helmet on. Another emerged from the saddlebags, and Cullen took it with a bit of nervousness before shoving it on his head and straddling the bike. He wrapped his arms around Krem’s waist and the bike snarled to life. Krem pulled them into traffic, and Cullen watched as the girls at the door all looked on in envy. Feeling a little smug, he clutched tighter, smiling inside the helmet.

They wound their way through traffic to a slightly nicer part of town, stopping outside an apartment building that, while old, seemed well maintained. Krem pulled his helmet off, pausing. “Shit. Look. There’s something you should know.”

Cullen pulled his helmet off, a little concerned. “Yes?”

Krem sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Should have asked about this before we left, but… I’m trans. Is that going to be a problem?”

Cullen blinked. “No? Why would it?”

Krem twisted around, staring. “Excuse me?”

“Do most people not take it so easily?” Cullen asked, startled.

“No.” Krem eyed him for a moment, snorting out a laugh when he realized Cullen wasn’t joking. “Fucking hell. You’re serious.”

“Yes?” Cullen said uncertainly, not sure what Krem meant. “I generally am. I’ve been told it’s something of a character flaw.”

Krem laughed, sliding off the bike. “Shit. I think I can put up with a few character flaws.” 

Cullen slid off as well, and Krem stashed jacket, helmet, and gloves in the saddlebags again. Cullen followed him up to the second floor, and stepped into a warm, pleasant apartment. The walls were a warm, sultry red, curtains made of some diaphanous black material hanging to the floor. The furniture had all seen wear, but matched, and was all very Tevene. A long couch against the wall, three overstuffed arm chairs, and a black lacquered coffee table with ornate golden serpent design on top made up the main furniture. A series of wall hangings of various Tevene warriors fighting with swords, pole arms, and a rather unusual bow hung on the wall. Krem dropped his keys on the small table just inside the door, and Cullen obligingly hung his coat on the hooks.

“Never quite changed my taste in décor since leaving the Imperium,” Krem said dryly, toeing off his boots and setting them aside on a rag rug. Cullen did the same, looking around. A bookshelf against one wall caught his eye, and as he moved further in he saw the living room segued to a rather nice kitchen. It appeared to have a bathroom and closet beyond it, past the stove and refrigerator, and a door set on the wall lead into a bedroom.

“I like it,” Cullen said quietly, smelling cumin and turmeric, seeing the “kiss the cook” apron hanging on a hook on the side of the refrigerator. “It’s comfortable.”

He didn’t want to think of his grey, bland little one room, with its mattress on the ground, pile of papers on a beat up desk, and lifeless, empty kitchen.

“So,” Krem said, stretching and pulling his belt off in a snap of leather. “Are we still doing this?”

“I’d like to,” Cullen admitted, trying his best not to blush. “I- sorry. It’s been a while.”

Krem crooked his fingers at him, and Cullen walked over, ducking his head as Krem smiled at him. “You’re sweet, you know that?”

“Not always,” he protested, biting his lip when Krem grinned at him. “Really.”

“Well,” Krem said mildly, doubling the belt over and running it over his palm, “I have a few personal rules before we get down to it.” 

Cullen nodded, listening intently. 

“Number one- binder stays on. Number two, nothing in me, certainly not the first go round. If you’re inclined to eat people out, I’m more than down with that, but I want some warning first.” Krem ticked the points off on his fingers, belt still in hand. “Any questions?”

“Sounds good,” Cullen said. “Um- I don’t care for my neck being grabbed. Touching is fine, but choking it is… not good.”

“Fair enough. Anything else?”

Cullen clasped his hands together, shifting a little. “I don’t much like having to call people by titles. Like sir, or master.”

Krem went still, looking him over. “Is that normal for you?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

He shrugged, trying not to look too closely at Krem. “I’ve had a few partners who got off on it,” he said quietly. Plenty of people had enjoyed treating the Knight-Captain as someone beneath them, and had been a little too pleased to put him in his place. “I can- I can do it, but I don’t enjoy it.”

Krem reached out, carefully pulling his face back so they were looking at each other. “I promise,” he said firmly, “that nothing will happen here that you don’t like. And if I make you at all uncomfortable, you ask me to stop, I will.”

Cullen smiled tentatively. “Thank you.”

There was a flash of emotion on Krem’s face, but it was quickly wiped away. “Of course. So, how do you feel about getting fucked? Physically?”

Cullen blinked, glanced down, glanced back up, and cocked his head. “Um. In what way?”

Krem looked entirely too amused. “With a strap on, handsome.”

“…What is that?” 

Krem stared for a moment, clearly surprised. “Seriously?”

“Yes?” Cullen hazarded, and Krem shook his head, amazed.

“Well, I guess I get to introduce you to the wonderful things you can do with leather, metal, and silicone molds.”

Cullen followed him into a comfortable, well lived in bedroom. The bed was on a blunt, plain frame, the quilt on it a comfortable dark green, all the furniture lived in and just as solid as the bed. The dresser, chair, desk with laptop and a variety of files, and a basket with a surprising amount of yarn in it were all well maintained and sturdy as their owner. It was kept with military precision, and before he could stop himself, Cullen asked, “Did you serve?”

Krem stiffened for a moment, but nodded. “Four years in the Tevinter Imperium’s 442 Battalion.”

“The Immortal Serpents,” Cullen said, eyebrows shooting up. “I’m impressed.”

Krem shrugged, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it into a tall hamper. “It’s never quite left me. What about you?”

“I was a Templar. Past tense, very firm on that.” He began opening his own buttons, admiring Krem’s muscle tone and tattoos as he did. “I was in Kirkwall.” 

Krem whistled through his teeth, shucking off his slacks. The tattoos continued down to about midthigh, black stripes and intricate designs like the stripes and swirls on his arm. The sleeves had some color at the top, a riot of flowers that devolved to the stripes, but his torso was all color, rich and vibrant, and most in the Tevene style. His binder was a plain black, incongruous against the color.

“So, judging by the fact you’re stripping down in my bedroom, the rumors about Southern Templars taking vows of chastity still are bullshit,” Krem said, and Cullen groaned.

“Not all Templars take them. Some do. As I understand it, it’s more of an Orlesian thing.” He let the shirt drop, smiling when Krem ran an appreciative eye over him. So, that gym membership had been worth it after all. He ditched his pants, standing there feeling a little awkward. Krem beckoned him over and he obediently stepped into his space, letting Krem run his hands up his chest, feeling more comfortable in his skin with each minute. 

“It’s strange,” he said abruptly, one hand coming up to grip Krem’s hip. “I feel more comfortable near naked than in that damn suit.”

Krem grinned, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck to pull him down for a slow, hungry kiss. Cullen moaned into it, his other hand coming up to rub slow circles against the curve of Krem’s hipbones. He let himself be back up until he was forced to sit on the bed, and Krem grinned over him. He smiled back, feeling any lingering nerves disappear, and it must have showed because Krem looked thoroughly satisfied and went to the closet, pulling it open and getting a box out. Cullen watched, curious, and Krem emerged with something… purple. Very purple. Violently purple. And what appeared to be a leather harness.

“Behold,” he said, attaching the two, and _oh_. Cullen watched in fascination as Krem put the harness on and, ta-da, dick. Purple dick, granted, but dick.

“This is so _useful_ ,” Cullen marveled, and Krem laughed, walking over and falling back on the pillows. Cullen rolled onto the bed, looking over the straps in fascination. “No, really, you could have _anything_ you want with this. I can’t imagine it would be cheap but you could change dicks each day of the year. What a concept.”

“You are so _weird_ ,” Krem laughed, tugging him back down to lay next to him. “I love it. Do you know how many men just flee in terror? And here you are thinking about how great it would be to switch out length and width whenever you want.”

“Shape, too. I hear tentacles are in this season.”

“Andraste’s sweet ass!” Krem howled with laughter, and Cullen grinned, pleased with himself. Krem flicked tears away, beaming. “Oh, fuck. This wasn’t how I planned on the evening going but I can’t complain.”

Cullen smiled, settling down and draping an arm over him. Krem reached out to gently stroke his hair as Cullen’s fingers rested on the harness.

“Hey,” he said quietly, still smiling. “You don’t want to do this, it’d be nice just to have someone to sleep next to. If you’re fine with that?”

Cullen thought about it, absently tracing the lines of the elaborate blue koi on Krem’s ribs. “I… yes,” he said, a little defeated. “I’m sorry, I feel bad, but it really has been a while and I’m not sure I’m comfortable just yet. Eventually, _fuck_ yes. Once I’d worked up to it, or something. This may be the first even remotely sexual thing I’ve ever done that hasn’t been unbelievably uncomfortable, or rushed, or just generally awful. But maybe for now, sleeping would be good.”

Krem rolled over, kissing him warmly, and Cullen melted under the attention. “That’s just fine,” he said when they parted. “I would be more than happy to introduce you to my dick another night.”

“Not a variety?”

“ _Cullen_.”

Cullen grinned, ducking his head as Krem ruffled his hair. “I haven’t told you yet, but I like the tattoos,” he said, sliding down so that he could rest his head on Krem’s shoulder and trace an elaborate compass on his hipbone. “They’re amazing.”

“I’m a walking art installation,” Krem joked, and Cullen chuckled. Krem lifted his hips, sliding the contraption off and dropping it on the bedside table. “I’d rather not sleep in that.”

“Sounds reasonable.” Cullen burrowed into him, nosing against his neck, and Krem huffed out a soft laugh.

“Cuddly, aren’t you?”

“Is it a problem?” Cullen murmured, and Krem’s hand came up to stroke through his hair.

“Not at all. Just a little surprising.” Cullen smiled, leaning in to kiss his neck, and Krem chuckled. “So, sex is off the table, just to be clear, but I'm more than happy with you having your not-so-wicked way with my neck. Didn't expect this to end with us making out like teenagers, but I'm pretty okay with this.”

“Mm.” Cullen nipped gently at his skin. “But you taste so nice.”

Krem laughed, pressing his head against his neck. “Cannibal,” he teased, and Cullen huffed a laugh against his skin, shoulders shaking a little. “Oh, what the hell, have at it. It's not every day I get good looking men in my bed.”

“But you deserve _all_ the good looking men in your bed,” Cullen said, in between nipping and sucking a rather lovely bruise onto Krem's skin, and smiled when the laugh got a little breathless.

oOo

Morning came far too early, but Cullen couldn't complain when he woke up next to Krem, who had apparently woken up at some point and ditched the binder in favor of a massively oversized black shirt and shorts. He smiled, nuzzling into Krem's neck, and got a pleased, sleepy noise in response.

“Hey, sweet thing,” a gravelly voice said, and Cullen leaned up to kiss Krem awake. Krem groaned into his mouth, sweet and pliant while he was still sleepy.

“Should I make you breakfast?” Cullen murmured against his lips, and Krem smiled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Don't you dare. I have plans. How do you feel about Orlesian toast and fancy eggs?”

And that was how Cullen found himself on Krem's couch, lounging in the sliver of sunshine coming through the window and eating the best scrambled eggs he'd ever had in his life. Krem was still in the kitchen, fussing with the coffee maker and swearing creatively. Cullen smiled as he watched him, feeling something strange and warm rising his chest, and was surprised to realize that he'd be happy to wake up like this for the rest of his life.

“Krem,” he said, setting his plate on the coffee table and rising, in the kitchen in a few steps. Krem looked up, just in time for Cullen to catch him around the waist and press him back against the counter, kissing him warmly. Krem's arms wrapped around his shoulders, and he savored the warmth that he radiated, the sweetness of sugar still on his lips from the toast, cinnamon and spices heady around him, and lingering vanilla sweet in the air.

“Good morning,” Krem whispered when they parted, only to drag him back in.

Outside, birds were singing in the trees, and Cullen felt _whole_.

oOo

The next day, Cullen took a deep breath, and stared at the phone on his desk. It sat there innocently enough, in its sturdy little case- a nice, warm blue that he had guiltily picked out at the mall. The screen in front of him told the time, and a picture he’d taken of a sunset was the locked background. Beyond, it was a picture of a moldering dock from when he last visited Honnleath. He reluctantly lifted it from his desk, unlocking it with shaking fingers.

Before he could lose his nerve, he called.

Three rings, then-

“ _Hey, handsome._ ”

Fucking hell, he could get used to hearing that voice. “Hi,” he said, feeling a grin steal across his face. “Um. I just wondered if you’d have time for dinner tonight?”

A soft groan echoed down the line, and Cullen went brilliant red, scooting his chair closer to his desk. “ _I wish. I’m all tied up this evening, but… tomorrow? Will tomorrow work for you?”_

“Tomorrow would work great,” he said. Just rearrange a bit of self loathing and apathetic staring at the TV, and he’d be good to go. “Would six be alright? Or seven?”

“ _Six, I think. Any great ideas on where to go?_ ”

Cullen tried not to beam, cradling the phone lovingly. “There’s that nice place on Grace Street that just opened. The Golden Rose?”

“ _Shit, you’re all sorts of class, aren’t you?”_ Krem sounded amused, rather than annoyed. “ _Or do you just want an excuse to see me in fancy clothes again?”_

“You’ve caught me,” Cullen deadpanned, and Krem laughed. “Really, though, it’s actually got some decent food from what I’ve heard. Nothing to offend your spice loving tongue.”

Krem’s voice dropped, a wicked croon down the line. “ _Thinking about my tongue already_?”

Cullen almost dropped his phone, stammering a little, and Krem laughed.

“ _Don’t worry, handsome. I’m used to Orlesian and Fereldan tastes by now, but I’m not going to lie, spice is nice. Look, the boss just got back. I’ll call you when we’re all wrapped up with this. What time do you sleep_?”

“Um. 11, normally?” Ten o’clock on the dot had been the regulation for Templars, and Cullen took a bit of vindictive pleasure in staying up just that little bit later. 

“ _I’ll call you by ten, all right? Unless something goes wrong at work, in which case I’ll text and tell you. We’ll work out the details later.”_

“Sounds good. Krem?”

He could hear the smile on the other end. “ _Yes_?”

“I like hearing your voice.”

Silence, and for a second Cullen thought he’d overstepped, and then there was a groan. “ _That wasn’t even a line, was it? You genuinely do. Shit. What the hell do I do with a man like you?_ ”

“Come with him to dinner, hopefully.” Cullen leaned back in his chair, unable to stop smiling. “I should let you go.”

“ _Yeah, probably. Boss is giving me the evil eye. Hey_.”

“What is it?”

“ _I like hearing your voice too. See you, handsome_.”

The line went dead. Cullen carefully put the phone on the desk, took a moment to reflect on what had just happened, and promptly buried his bright red face in his hands. 

A knock on the door had him startling, looking up to see Sera leaning in through it, grinning widely and in clothes definitely not approved of in the dress code. _I lick peaches_ in hot pink on a yellow tank top with beat up leggings was not appropriate. “Cullen’s got a _daaate_ , look at you. Who’s the lucky lady?” Cullen froze, and Sera paused, looking him over. “Or not a lady?” she hazarded, and Cullen swallowed hard.

“Did you need something, Sera?”

“Just some’a the papers for Ink.” She stepped inside, tossing a file on his desk. “Sooo, didn’t think you were bent.”

He fussed with the band on the file, finally giving up and sighing. “Fine, if we’re talking about this close the door.”

Sera kicked it shut and dropped into the seat across from his desk, kicking her feet up. Her shoes were a wreck, lime green with florescent orange laces.

Cullen had a strange relationship with their lead intern. Sera had been one of Inquisitor Lavellan’s unexpected hires, picked more or less at random off of the street from what he understood. Lavellan was fond of her, though, so she stayed, and since she was one of the few people who could get him to smile and laugh, she stayed with much appreciation from all. Sera _cared_ , most importantly, and that made her invaluable in Cullen’s eyes. Plenty of people found their somber, often expressionless Inquisitor to be unnerving, but Sera didn’t much care. Mahanon just showed his affection in other ways, and Sera brought out the joy in him that he kept so carefully hidden. She also keep the interns from running wild, and after a few pranks on him, they’d grown fairly comfortable with each other.

“So, you get laid or something?” she asked as he fiddled with a pencil. “Got guilty?”

“No. I- Maker.” He ran a hand over his hair. “I didn’t _do_ anything. I wanted to, and then I didn’t, and instead we just slept. I didn’t even get kicked out. He made me _breakfast_.”

“Well piss,” she said after a moment. “You got it bad already. What’s he like?”

Cullen walked the pencil through his fingers. “Strong. Shorter than me. Handsome. Likes jazz, probably does something illegal I shouldn’t know about. He’s trans.”

“Lot like Ink, then,” Sera said, offering him a piece of gum. He took it, glad for something new to play with. She popped a piece in her mouth.

“No, he’s vibrant. Really alive. Laughs a lot. I guess he’s like the Inquisitor, if you mean him being trans. He’s got tattoos all over, he’s gorgeous. Apparently he works for a Qunari called The Iron Bull.”

Sera almost choked on her gum, her feet falling to the floor. “ _Krem_?”

“Oh, you know him?”

“Shit, yeah. Everybody who’s anybody knows the Chargers. You finally meet Dorian then?”

“Does everyone know everyone but me?” Cullen demanded, throwing his hands in the air. “I’m in charge of the hiring, shouldn’t I know we have a head of Archives?”

“That’s your problem, not mine,” Sera snickered, kicking her feet back up. “Ink thinks you hung the moon but you can’t know everything. So why didn’t you?”

“Know Dorian?” Cullen said, deliberately skirting the question, and Sera rolled her eyes.

“Stop being a tit. Krem’s fit as hell, all muscle-y and nice teeth, yeah? Even if he’s not what I want he seems like your kind. Why not go for it? Bang a few drums?”

Cullen poked at his paperwork with a pencil, keeping his eyes down. “I suppose I wasn’t ready. I thought I would be, but it’s been a while. And it’s never been much fun for me.”

Sera frowned, balling up the paper of her gum wrapper. “What’chu mean, not fun? It’s sex. Sex is fun.”

“Not always,” he said, thinking a little bitterly of Solana Amell, her sweet smile and hard eyes, and shook his head to clear his thoughts. No point in dwelling on her. “It always made me feel wrong.” He looked up, making himself look at Sera. “Have you ever been in the Chantry and felt like you shouldn’t be? Like you’re all sorts of wrong, you’ve done too much bad to ever do enough good to make it up?”

Sera rolled the ball of paper through her fingers, nodding. “Just a couple times. But that’s what She’s there for, right? Mercy. Andraste’s for all of us who fuck up and have to come back from it, even if it’s real shitty stuff, that’s what she’s all about, right? Just try and do better, that sort of thing.”

Cullen nodded, rubbing his forehead. “I always felt awful after,” he admitted. “And Krem was okay with it. He didn’t push me or anything.”

“Good. If he did, I’d cut his legs off.”

Cullen was never sure if she was joking or not, but his alarms beeped and he grimaced, picking up another file. Sera blew a bubble and popped it.

“Meeting with Ink?”

“Yes. More budgeting.” He paused, looking over at her. “Where do most of the interns live?”

“South side, mostly. Couple East side. One rich brat from the gold shitters up on the hill.” She let her feet drop, standing up. “Why?”

“I want to see about raising wages,” he said, and her eyebrows shot up. “Don’t look at me like that. We do actually _need_ the work you all do. I was thinking of increasing it by two silver, or at least proposing it. If people could move to better neighborhoods…”

“Fuck the neighborhoods,” Sera said, her voice serious for once. “People’ll use it to get better. Doctors, healers, yeah? And safer getting-to and getting-from. Cars. Buses. Good bikes, not fifteen year old shit. Good food, not bargain bin knock offs.”

Cullen nodded decisively. “I’ll talk to the Inquisitor today.”

“Good.” Sera nodded sharply. “Hey. Cullen.”

“What?”

“Get fucking _laid_.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mahanon has a shitty clan, Dorian and Bull are Totally Not Married, Felix owns a bakery, Evelyn Trevelyan shits straight badassery, and food is a thing that happens.

Krem ended the call with a smile, and turned back to the man tied to the chair. “Sorry about that, Seggrit,” he said cheerily, tucking it in his pocket and pulling his gloves back on. “You know how it is.”

“My wife's the same way,” Seggrit agreed morosely. “Always with the calling and such.”

“You're not married, Seggrit,” Dalish said from where she was lounging on a rather battered desk. The warehouse they were in had been abandoned for years, and as Grim walked up with a nasty looking bat on his shoulder, Skinner melted out of the shadows with a wicked smile.

Seggrit looked between them all, eyes wide and panicked. “I could be! Two little kids, you know.”

“You hate kids,” Krem said, snapping the gloves. 

“I might want some one day!”

From a battered, half rotted couch, The Iron Bull chuckled and lazily twirled a butterfly knife between thick fingers with lightning speeds. “Now, Seggrit,” he drawled. “If you'd like to keep that potential for kids, I suggest you start talking. We know the Carta's got a vested interest in keeping you functional, and that's something I'm _very_ interested in hearing about...”

“Fuck, fuck!” Seggrit jerked back as Krem picked up a long length of pipe and spun it. “Fuck, fine, it's the Cadash family! Okay?! The Cadash, they're investing in shit from out in the middle of nowhere in Orlais, some shitty little hellhole called Forbidden Oasis. Some magical fuckery out there, no one knows what's up with the place!”

“See how simple that was?” Bull said warmly, rising. Stitches had once said that it was an education, watching Bull stand. Despite his bad leg, he rarely used his hands to push himself up and out, simply rose with the sheer thigh strength, a mass of hulking muscle and broad shoulders. His horns were well polished that day- Dorian certainly stayed the night before. His eyepatch gleamed wickedly in the light.

Seggrit stared up at him in terror, and Bull smiled, showing sharp teeth as he leaned down, right in Seggrit's face.

“Let me make something very clear to you,” he said, his voice sweet as honey. “I don't much like you, Seggrit. You overcharge, and if there's one thing I hate, it's seeing people suffer needlessly. I'll be keeping my eye on you these next few months. Nights are getting colder, and so is my heart. It would do me some good to see some oh so spontaneous acts of kindness from people like you. Understand?”

“Yes,” Seggrit breathed, trembling. “I understand.”

“Good.” His smile broadened, and he reached out, tipping Seggrit's chin up harshly. “And I will be there, if you fuck up. Don't you fucking doubt that, because I've been watching you a long, _long_ time, and you are getting on my very last nerves, _boy_.”

He let him go, and nodded to Skinner. She removed the ropes, and Dalish hopped down from the table, the crew heading for the door as Seggrit stayed in the chair, near paralyzed with fear.

Outside in the sunlight, Krem grimaced when Bull draped a heavy arm over his shoulder. “All right, let's hear it.”

“Hear what?” Bull said jovially as they headed towards the tan SUV waiting for them. Black, as Bull often said, was just too damn conspicuous.

“About Cullen. You've been giving me that evil grin the whole day, just spit it out.” 

Bull shook his head, letting Krem open the door to the back seat and climb in first. He followed, hunching down a little. “I can see you don't want to talk about it. I'm not going to force the issue.” Krem eyed him suspiciously, and Bull raised his hands. “I mean it. You're not normally this cagey about your bed partners, so this one must be special. I can respect that, believe it or not. You think I try and get Skinner and Dalish to talk about it?”

He shook his head slowly, still a little wary, and Bull said fondly, “If it's important, it's it fills up all the little cracks you don't know you have, then it's worth respecting.”

Krem stared. “Sometimes,” he said slowly, “I really wonder about you, Chief. You pull shit like this and it leaves me all off balance.”

The Iron Bull just grinned, and Skinner started the SUV as Dalish hopped in the passenger seat and Grim in next to Krem.

oOo

Mahanon Lavellan was rather tall for an elf, with short cut black hair, unusually pale skin, and only the faintest lines to show where Mythal's vallaslin had once been. He dressed in sharp black suits, and every time Cullen saw him he was reminded of a long, thin dagger, lovingly wrapped in silk. The sole concession he showed his heritage was an ironbark ring on his left middle finger, which was never removed. His office was as sleek and monochromatic as he was, all sharp edges and dark chairs. It was not a comforting place to be.

Cullen waited silently with Leliana and Josephine as he flicked through their reports. If he wanted input, he would ask. He read far faster than they could sum up, and by the time three minutes had elapsed, he was finished. 

“See to it that our friend in Val Royeaux is managed, please,” he said mildly to Leliana, who nodded and left. “Josephine, if you would handle the affair with the younger attorneys?”

“Of course, Mahanon.” Josephine took her leave, and Cullen was suddenly the sole focus of an intense pair of grey eyes.

“You seem thoughtful, Cullen,” he said, and Cullen nodded.

“I spoke with Sera,” he said quietly. Lavellan detested unnecessary noise, migraines leaving him sensitive and irritable if it grew to be too much. Misophonia was unpleasant to suffer through even without the added migraines. “I’d like to see about increasing the interns wages.”

Lavellan considered, cocking his head. “I like it. How much?”

“An additional two silvers per hour,” Cullen said. It was not a small amount, and Lavellan closed his eyes. Cullen knew he was running through sums in his head, and tried not to jump when his eyes snapped open again.

“Very good. Tell accounting to take it from my salary. I am comfortable, I have no need for such extravagance.”

Cullen nodded. “Yes, Inquisitor.”

“Mahanon, please,” he said, waving his hand. He hesitated for a moment, and Cullen was startled to see a little bit of nervousness steal onto his normally neutral face. “Cullen… are we friends?”

“I’d like us to be,” he said sincerely, and was shocked when Mahanon actually smiled at him, his whole face lighting up. It was like looking at a whole different person, one who was actually 28.

“Oh. That’s good.” Mahanon fussed with his papers for a moment before looking up, swallowing hard. “Thank you, for thinking of the interns.”

“Yes, Mahanon,” he said, and quietly left the room.

oOo

He made his way to the Archives after lunch, knocking twice before stepping inside. He'd been shown where they were when he first arrived, though he'd not been down since. He hesitated in the doorway, looking to row upon row of filing cabinets, neatly labeled and a veritable maze. 

“Hello?” he called.

From deep in the stacks, there was an irritable, “Unless you've brought coffee, you're not welcome!”

“What if I have?” he called, and there was a pause.

Dorian's head popped out from behind one of the cabinets, and Cullen held up the bag of bagels and cup he'd brought. Dorian looked vastly different than he had at the club, in a plain white button up and slacks, though the shoes were still very well made and extremely stylish. He was also wearing a ridiculous amount of rings and a full face of make up, rectangular glasses perched on his nose. 

“Well, then I suppose you're welcome,” Dorian said after a long pause, looking utterly baffled. “Are those bagels?”

“They are,” Cullen confirmed, kicking the door shut and making his way over. Dorian seized the coffee with muttered thanks, closing his eyes in bliss as he drank. “I thought I might as well come down and meet you properly. You'll probably be getting more interns down here soon, just so you know.”

“Lovely. As if Sera weren't enough already.” His voice was fond, though, and Cullen followed him back through a convoluted mess of cabinets and bookshelves to a surprisingly nice corner office with windows. Office was perhaps too grand a word- it was more of a small cubby hole that someone had dragged a very nice red, high backed chair into, with a vast assortment of books all around. In the corner sat, of all things, an actual oud. There was a desk pushed against the wall with an elderly laptop sat on it, and a much sleeker one sat closed off to the side. The laptop seemed to be running some sort of filing program. 

“You'll have to excuse me,” Dorian said as he set the coffee and bagels on the desk, vanishing out into the stacks again and returning with a metal chair with a rather decrepit naugahyde seat. “I don't normally get guests down here, you see.”

“It's nice though,” Cullen offered, taking the chair and sitting as Dorian collapsed into his own. The glasses found their way to the window ledge, and Dorian groaned softly as he bit into a bagel. He watched with no small amusement as Dorian demolished the peace offering, clutching the coffee like it was a treasure. 

“Now I suppose the question is how you know how I take my coffee,” Dorian said when he'd sat back, clearly pleased.

“I asked Sera,” he said with a grin. “She told me where you normally went, I went there, asked, and they were delighted to send me with your usual order.” It had been a little shop with a bright pink sign proclaiming it “Sweet Escape”, and a very definitely Tevene man working the counter.

“Devious, I like it. The owner is an old friend of mine.” He inhaled the scent again, eyes closing. “So, how did things go with you and Krem?”

“Er. It's... a work in progress,” Cullen hazarded, and Dorian raised a perfect eyebrow. 

“I take it that you were made aware-”

“Oh, yes, that's not a problem,” Cullen said, waving a hand. “It's more that it's been quite a while and we're... working up to it.”

Dorian nodded knowingly. “Ahhh, I see. Not used to kindness?” Cullen stared at him, startled, and Dorian sipped his coffee. “Oh, don't worry, I was like that once too. Showing kindness in Tevinter normally means you're just waiting for the other shoe to drop and kill you. Krem, thankfully, has managed to avoid that particular hang up. He's a good man.”

Cullen sat back in his chair, hesitating for a moment. “So, you and The Iron Bull.”

“Trust me, I was just as surprised as you when we became a couple,” Dorian said, sipping at his coffee again. “It's a long and complicated story, but the short version is that I escaped from a very bad situation into one nearly as awful, and Bull was a port in the storm that somehow turned into home.”

“Are you married?”

Dorian nearly choked on his coffee, sputtering a little. “No, absolutely not! What on Earth gave you that idea?”

Cullen shrugged, hiding his smile. “You acted like he was your husband.”

“Did I?” Dorian was darkening a bit, and couldn't quite hide his smile. “Yes. Well. We are not _exactly_ married. Not by Chantry standards. But... well. You aren't wrong, I suppose. His children are my children, and I think it's probably safe to say that we're at least a _little_ married.” His eyes drifted, and a slightly dreamy smile came across his face. “He makes for a very _attentive_ not-husband. And that is no bad thing, to have someone who openly adores you.” His attention snapped back to Cullen. “Also, please do not hurt my adopted son. I'd really rather not make your life a living hell.”

Somehow Cullen had no doubt that he could. “I understand completely.”

oOo

_Sweet Escape_ was not what most people thought of when they thought of shady underworld dealings, but the cheery little bakery had its fair share of the darker denizens of Haven in and out at all hours. With its bright pink sign, cheery white and yellow tables, comfortable couches and warm lighting, it was a little walking into a ball of sunshine and happy thoughts. Krem whistled sharply as he walked through the door, and Felix bustled to the front wearing a bright yellow apron.

“ _You're looking good,_ ” Krem said in Tevene. “ _How's your day been?_ ”

“ _The usual_ ,” Felix said cheerfully, and Krem leaned on the counter. 

Sweet Escape was always low level busy. College students were always feverishly tapping at their laptops, small children reverently held Felix's beautiful tea cups while their parents sipped coffee and ate pastries, teenagers held laughter filled meetings, and in the corner Gereon Alexius was forever at work on something. Krem smiled at his adoptive brother, and Felix handed him his usual order of bagels, croissants, and coffee. 

“There was a man who came in today to get Dorian's usual,” he said, leaning on the counter as well so they could gossip. Dorian despaired that the two of them had become such good friends, but complained fondly about it, so Krem didn't mind. Felix was arguably the best man he'd met from Tevinter, and he was determined to keep his friends. “Tall, blonde, scar on his lip. He seemed harmless enough. Should I be worried?”

Krem's smile widened. “His name is Cullen Rutherford, he works with Dorian at the Inquisition firm. Employee Resources.”

“Sounds like you know him,” Felix said, looking utterly pleased.

“You could say that,” Krem admitted, his smile turning sly. 

“ _No_ ,” Felix demanded, delighted. “You didn't.” 

“Oh yes. He's taking me to the Golden Rose tomorrow night,” Krem said smugly, and Felix crowed proudly, smacking his hand on the counter.

The door jingled open, revealing Dorian in a scarf with his glasses still on. He took a look at the two of them and rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically before joining them at the counter. “All right you two little demons, what are we talking about?”

“Cullen Rutherford,” Felix said with great relish. “And Krem's _date_. I am clearly out of the loop.”

“Your mother is going to be very put out if you don't bring him by soon,” Dorian said dryly, sliding around the counter to go find an apron. “Felix, I'm going to make dinner.”

“Cake does not qualify as dinner, Dorian.” 

“So you say. I have yet to believe you.” He vanished into the back, his bag finding its way under the counter. Krem shook his head as Felix watched him fondly. Ever since Dorian had hesitantly introduced the Chargers to the man who was essentially the sole reason he was still alive, Felix had been something of an adopted sibling to all of them, fond and kind. He was a hard worker, so it was rare to see him outside the bakery, but they were always welcomed with open arms and warm food. Even Skinner was fond of him. 

Looking back to him, Felix said lowly, “If he fucks up my crème brulee I'm going to murder him.”

“I heard that, Felix!”

oOo

The Inquisition was housed in a ten story building called SKYHOLD- capitals required- and it was built to withstand the onslaught of a small army. The lobby was sleek and modern, but warm enough, and as Krem made his way to the elevator he could feel the soothing calm of the building wash over him. There was something about the place that engendered relaxation, soothed nervousness, and made you feel like you could take on the world despite the fact that it was a law office. He had the feeling that was Mahanon's doing.

The elevator took him to the seventh floor with no issues, and he walked down a short, meticulously maintained hallway before reaching a sleek black door. MAHANON LAVELLAN, INQUISITOR, stated the sign beside it in neat copperplate, and he pushed the door open without knocking.

Mahanon was stretched out on one of his ridiculous chic couches, a wet rag over his eyes. 

“Long day?” he asked without preamble, closing the door and sitting in a marginally more comfortable chair. The Inquisitor twitched slightly, dragging the cloth off of his eyes before sitting up.

“My clan sent a representative,” he said bluntly. “They are refusing to change the records to my true name. I may be legally cast out.”

Krem winced. “Shit.”

“An accurate sum up.” Mahanon sat up properly, looking exhausted. For someone who was always meticulously put together, he looked ruffled and uncomfortable. His suit was in disarray, something he usually wouldn't tolerate. “Was it like this when you left?”

“Well, according to Tevinter I'm dead, so yes. It's not easy.”

Mahonon nodded, and held out his hand for the file that Krem carried. He handed it over without comment, and Mahanon settled back to flick through it, his eyes darting over the words. While Mahanon had been surprisingly talkative that evening, Krem didn't intend to push his luck. Everyone knew about the Inquisitors difficulty with loud noises, and Krem had no intentions of upsetting him further. Mahanon frowned, pausing on Bull's report.

“The Cadash? I expected more subtlety.” He glanced up, thoughtful. “Herah Adaar would be more my expectation. But I suppose Edric has his intelligent side. Not, I grant you, anything on the level of Herah, but enough. They would make quite the formidable pair.”

Krem nodded, waiting patiently.

“Very well.” Mahanon closed the file and handed it back, closing his eyes and resting his head against the back of the couch. “Please inform The Iron Bull of my gratitude.”

“Yes, Mahanon,” he said quietly, and took the file. He opened the door to leave, and walked directly into Cullen, who had reached for the handle.

“Oh!”

Mahanon lifted his head as the two of them untangled themselves, both beet red, and watched with definite interest as Krem leaned in to murmur, “See you tomorrow, handsome.”

Cullen made a squeaky little noise that was entirely too adorable and sidled into the room, still red. Mahanon looked between the two, a delighted smile slowly growing on his face as he practically radiated excited happiness. Cullen jumped as Krem lightly hip checked him, and as Krem closed the door he heard Mahanon say, “Cullen, you and I have _much_ to talk about.”

oOo

One of the requirements for being a Charger was a certain amount of flexibility in your personal life. But come rain, snow, sleet, hail, or lava flow, one thing was certain. Tuesday morning breakfast at The Iron Bull's house were a permanent fixture.

“Breakfast,” Cullen said as he poked at what might have been food at some point. It was dangerously green. Krem had called around nine, after Cullen had seen him in the office, to tease and to make certain they both knew what was going on for the following day. “You want me to go to breakfast with you?”

“ _Bull's very big on family bonding time,_ ” Krem said dryly. “ _I don't mind if you don't want to go, but I thought it might be nice. Dorian would be there, and he could really use some more friends._ ”

Cullen tossed the whole container in the trash, frowning. “Does he not have many?”

“ _He's an unapologetically gay mage from Tevinter who works for one of the most controversial, powerful people in Thedas_ ,” Krem said, sighing. “ _So, no, not really._ ”

Cullen hummed, feeling a flash of pity. “I went down to talk to him today. It was a good conversation, he's very fond of you.”

“ _Oh?_ ” Krem sounded amused. “ _Did he give you the shovel talk already_?”

“More or less. So, breakfast. Do you want to pick me up, or should I find a way there?”

Krem chuckled, and Cullen basked in the sound. His voice was so sweet and warm, like drizzled chocolate over toffee, rich and soothing. “ _I'll come get you. Might even take you to lunch, too, if you ask nice. Mahanon texted me in all caps with no punctuation, he was so excited. I could probably get him to let me take you for a whole day on the town._ ”

Cullen laughed ruefully. “He spent about twenty minutes interrogating me with the biggest smile I've ever seen on him. I don't think I've ever seen him so animated.”

“ _He's a good guy, our Inquisitor. Sweet. Very bad at social situations, but sweet._ ” There was the creak of a body dropping into a chair, and Cullen made his way over to the mattress on the floor. 

Dropping down onto it with a sigh, he asked, “Are we moving too quickly? Or is this normal? I've never really had a chance to be involved with anyone, so I'm... confused.”

“ _We're probably moving a bit fast, but if it works for us, everyone else can fuck off,_ ” Krem said, and Cullen smiled brightly. “ _So, about dinner..._ ”

oOo

Krem arrived on the bike, and Cullen had the dubious pleasure of riding in his suit to The Iron Bull's house. They arrived with no real issue, and Cullen looked around in interest. It was a small place, very square, with rosebushes out front and a wrought iron fence. Bars on the windows looked like flowers, and as they parked and dismounted a massive black SUV pulled up and parked across the street. Two qunari stepped out, clearly siblings with matching huge horns. Krem waved, and they walked over with matching stride.

“Cullen Rutherford, Herah and Kaaras Adaar.” 

Herah was more lean than her brother, with full lips and sharp eyes lined in very dramatic eyeliner. Kaaras was built like a brick, with a bright smile and warm green eyes that stood out strong against his high cheekbones. They were both quite beautiful, with full mouths and strong features. A scar bisected the left of Herah's mouth, stretching down to her chin. Both of them were a few shades darker than The Iron Bull, both with white hair.

He shook hands before being ushered through the gates towards the house. 

The house was full to the brim with a riot of people, all spilling out into the little back yard and lounging on incredibly pink living room furniture. The house was full of beautiful trinkets, and as Krem led him to the kitchen, he looked around in fascination. Bull was at the stove in the frilliest pink apron Cullen had ever seen, and boomed out a welcome before passing a plate of pancakes to a grizzled dwarf that smelled faintly of explosives to take outside. Dorian sat at the table, ignoring the crowds as he read the morning paper with his glasses perched carefully on his nose. 

“You're late,” he said without looking up as Krem grabbed the open chairs at the table for he and Cullen.

“Had to get Cullen, _dad_.”

Dorian shuddered delicately, not looking away from his paper. “Bull, tell your fiends to stop calling me dad.”

“They'll stop calling you dad when they stop calling me Tama, sweet,” Bull said as he swept around with a pitcher of syrup the size of a small dog. Dorian grunted, turning the page of the paper, but he smiled when Bull bent to kiss his still ruffled hair.

Cullen grinned as Bull bustled away, relaxing back in the chair as Krem's arm rested on the back. “Not married, huh?”

“Oh, hush, you,” Dorian said, but he was smiling, pleased. “It's good to see you.” 

Plates spun onto the table, and Krem grabbed forks for them both as a tall, somber man came over with pancakes. “Hey, Grim. This is Cullen.”

They got a grunt in response, and Grim headed back into the sea of people as Dorian passed over a serving platter full of a variety of add-ons for the pancakes. Krem enthusiastically grabbed what appeared to be spiced maple syrup, and Cullen grabbed the berry. A trail of people of various races, shapes, and sizes flowed through the open doors and out to the back yard or in to the living room, all chatting and laughing, and Cullen stared when he saw the Trevelyan twins come in like twin, bulky behemoths.

“Commander,” Maxwell said with a lazy salute and a grin before they muscled through into the other room. He watched, startled.

“You know them?” Krem asked, stealing a piece of cantaloupe from Dorian's plate.

“I... yes. I was invited to their home for dinner, once. In the Free Marches, before Kirkwall. And they came to Kirkwall occasionally, to deal with their family's accounts with some of the merchants there.” He went back to his plate, still baffled, and began cutting his food. “I wouldn't have thought they'd remember me.”

“Oh?”

“They were both very high. Very, _very_ high. Pass me the juice, please?”

Bull dropped down into the only other chair at the table, and Dorian leaned over so he could kiss his cheek. Bull smiled fondly, lifting his hand to kiss it, which got him a pleased blush and a fake scowl. Krem rolled his eyes, but he smiled too. 

“Ah, I love breakfasts,” Bull said with deep satisfaction. “Food, bringing all my people together. And all the people that aren't my people.” He settled, resting his hands on his stomach. “Good to see you, Cullen. Mahanon should be here in a bit, he'll be pleased to see you. He's always so quiet at breakfast, maybe you can help the man relax.”

Cullen looked around at the packed people. “He can stand coming in with so much noise? Doesn't he get headaches?”

“He takes his medicine before he comes,” Krem explained. Pausing, he turned in his chair and raised his voice. “Oi, Evie!”

Evelyn Trevelyan rose like a small mountain, walking over. She was just as built as her brother, her hair close cropped and her features just as solidly meaty. Her hands, which reminded Cullen strongly of a pair of intensely massive hams, swung at her side as she stopped, looking down at Krem with unnervingly intent eyes. If asked, Cullen would have likely described her as “brutally intelligent”. Something about her suggested a fox inhabiting a bears body.

“You need something?”

“Just remembered that shit with the fucker from Antiva last week, that work out okay?” he asked, genuinely concerned. She smiled wide. Cullen noted that her nose had been broken at least twice, and she had a silver tooth. 

“Yeah, we got him. No more shit here, don't you worry.”

“And the... other thing?”

Her smile widened, and she clapped him on the back. “Fuck yeah! She said yes. Maker, she's such a fuckin' beauty. _Antivans_ , Maker. Can't get any luckier. Howsit, Curly?”

Cullen winced as Dorian looked utterly delighted by the nickname. “Not bad, thank you. And you?”

“Shitting straight badassery,” she said with a grin. “Hey, heard about Varric?”

Cullen closed his eyes, wishing deeply that he'd never heard the name before. “Maker preserve me. What's he done now?”

Evelyn grinned wickedly, leaning on Krem. “Got a date with Seeker Cassandra hotter-than-flashfire Pentaghast. 'Parently she's a _fan_ of his writing. Shit you not. She got him in cuffs and tried to get where that red nosed beast was out of him, but he got a date instead. Fuckin Hawke's gotta be proud as punch. ”

Ten years in Kirkwall had loosened Cullen's taste for perfect grammar, and without thinking he fell into the same dialect that she was speaking, relaxing back in his chair. It was like being in Lowtown again, without the hassle of people trying to kill him or wrangle him into a game of Diamondback. “Hawke's gotta be losing his damn mind, took off with the lot of them, you know. Possessive fuckin' bastard, Hawke. She get him in cuffs fore or aft trying to get him marking the book? Seems like it'd be fore, but eh.”

Evelyn's eyebrows shot up, but she just shrugged. “Fuck if I know. What'd I know about the minds of weird Nevarran Seekers? Shit like that's your affair, yeah?” There was a clang, and everyone turned as Sera slid in with Mahanon trailing behind her. “Eeeey, Herah! Your girl's here!”

“Hey Evie,” Sera said cheerily, and Bull passed her a plate. Herah appeared at the back door, grinning as Sera went bright red.

Mahanon slid around to stand by Bull, happily taking a plate and wandering out into the back yard as Herah sauntered over to Sera, looking far too pleased with herself as Sera awkwardly nearly tripped over her own feet. 

Evelyn clapped Krem on the shoulder with a hand as big as his head, grinning. “Bring your boy to drinks, Krem. Looks like he needs to get out sometime. Loosen him and that hair up. Better than it was, eh?”

“Got it, Evie.” They bumped fists and she wandered away again, Krem turning to grin at Cullen. “I didn't know you spoke Lowtown cant.”

“I'm just talented like that. And maybe in a few other ways.”

Krem grinned, and pulled him over for a kiss as Bull whooped.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is sex.
> 
> So much sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the rating change.
> 
> This chapter is all porn. Loving, tender, rough sex. Dicks are involved. Krem gets eaten out. There is enthusiastic consent all around, lots of checking in, and lots of laughing and smiling.
> 
> There is mention of Cullen being coerced into a past short lived sexual relationship, which was dubiously consensual.

Mahanon drove a sleek silver sedan with murdered out rims and INQZTV1 on the vanity plates. It was just as razor sharp as the man himself, and as Cullen and Krem left breakfast with Dorian following them, it was to see him in the sharpest suit with a silver tie climbing in, pulling down sunglasses with reflective tinting. He nodded at them, giving them a little smile before pulling away from the curb with perfect technique. 

Cullen swung himself onto the bike as Dorian leaned on the wrought iron fence, looking utterly pleased about life.

“Our Inquisitor is a man of many depths,” Dorian drawled, watching the car disappear down the street. “Inquisitive one. I do love that man so.” He straightened as Krem pulled on his gloves, tightening them down and tossing on his jacket. “It was good to see you both. Krem, should we be expecting you for dinner?”

“No,” he said with a grin, laying a possessive hand on Cullen's thigh. “I've got a hot date.”

“ _Krem_ ,” Cullen groaned, pulling on the helmet and flipping the visor closed as the pair laughed.

“We'll be seeing you, then,” Dorian said fondly. “Cullen, I expect I'll see you at lunch. Don't get in too much trouble.”

Krem swung onto the bike, grabbing his helmet. “Aw, come on. How much trouble could I get in?”

Dorian waved them off, and as the bike roared down the street Cullen's fingers snuck into Krem's belt loops, holding him tight as they darted into traffic.

oOo

They reached the office with plenty of time to spare, and Krem pull into visitor parking in front of the building. Cullen swung off the bike, pulling off the helmet and handing it over.

“Have I mentioned how much I love this thing?” Cullen asked as Krem stored the other helmet in the saddlebags. “If I wasn't so unsteady, I'd get one.” He ran a fond hand over the saddlebags, amazed at how soon something could feel so reassuring. 

Krem grinned up at him, wrapping his fingers around the tie he wore to pull him forward. Cullen felt the traitorous blush start back up, and stepped in close enough to feel the heat coming off the engine.

“I'm looking forward to dinner,” Krem said warmly, playing with the end of the tie. He looked up through his lashes, his smile wicked and full of promise. With the sunlight bouncing off the buildings to slide over his cheekbones, he was a vision in bronze. 

“I think I'm more looking forward to dessert,” Cullen said, looking down demurely.

“You have anything in mind?” Krem murmured, his smile turning devious.

Cullen bit his lip, flicking his eyes up to meet Krem's. “I thought we might go back to yours. Eating out, so to speak.”

Krem's smile broadened. “That so?”

“It is,” Cullen said, his face red as a beet root. “Can I kiss you now so my blush is warranted?”

Krem laughed, dragging him down with his tie to kiss him slow and filthy.

“Have a good day,” he said sweetly when he pulled away, and Cullen couldn't quite help the whine that escaped. Krem grinned, shooing him away, and Cullen headed to the door with a slightly dazed grin.

Josephine was in the lobby, looking utterly delighted at this turn of events, and he just beamed at her before heading off to his office with a bit of a spring in his step.

oOo

The Golden Rose was just as good and overpriced as he'd been led to believe, but it was worth it to see Krem in a suit again. Dorian certainly had to have had some influence on his clothing for the evening, since the shirt was real silk, and the tie was thin and razor sharp. It was the best fit suit Cullen had ever seen, perfectly tailored, and when Krem slid his jacket off and rolled up his sleeves to the elbows it was all he could do not to drool. His shoulder to waist ratio was unbelievable.

The steak was incredibly good, though, and Krem was an entertaining dinner companion. By the time dessert rolled around he was suitably relaxed. Krem traced random patterns on his palm where it sat on the table, and said lowly, “So, are we staying for dessert, dessert? Or going home?”

Cullen smiled down at their hands, feeling his cheeks heat up. “I don't know about you, but I've been a little distracted most of dinner.”

Krem flagged down a waiter, calling, “Check, please!”

oOo

The door had only barely closed before Krem pushed him against the wall, and Cullen's hands fumbled at buttons as Krem's teeth buried in his neck. “Oh _fuck_ , please. I think I'd like you to fuck me senseless tonight.”

Krem laughed against his neck, breathless, and stepped back to drag off the shirt and toss it on the hall table. “Before or after dessert?” he teased, shoving Cullen back against the wall with one hand and pinning him there, reaching down to ruck the shirt out of his slacks.

“After?” Cullen panted out, keeping his hands out of the way. “Unless you'd be too sensitive.”

“Fuck no.” Krem dragged the shirt off of him, tossing it away, and Cullen carefully toed out of shoes and socks as Krem ditched his pants. Cullen was about to start on the pants when Krem grabbed his hair and tugged. Cullen dropped to his knees in a heartbeat, biting back a whimper. Krem grinned down at him, tightening his grip. “Like it rough?”

“Yes,” Cullen breathed, hope in his eyes.

Krem chuckled. “This is a good look for you,” he mused, and Cullen whined softly, pressing forward to nose at Krem's hip. Krem tugged at his hair, and he sat back, looking up with eyes blown wide with lust.

“Needy,” Krem said fondly, and let go. “First things first. You know about safewords?”

Cullen nodded. “I've never used them, but I know what they are.”

“I don't do anything without them, okay?” Krem waited until Cullen nodded to continue. “You have any of your own?”

Cullen hesitated. “Calenhad.”

Krem nodded. “That works. Mine's tribune. Now.” He grinned down, predatory, and Cullen licked his lips. “Bedroom. I've been looking forward to this all day.” He dragged his fingers through Cullen's hair, grinning wickedly as Cullen's hips jerked helplessly. “Up you get, handsome.”

Cullen scrambled to his feet, jolting a little when Krem smacked his ass, and let himself be shuffled off into the bedroom. The pants were ditched on the way to the bed, and by the time Cullen had finally convinced himself to shuck off what little remained, Krem was sprawled out in nothing but the binder. Cullen's fingers twitched as his eyes drank in the sight. The tattoos were beautiful, the colors a riotous glory to behold.

Krem grinned at him, crooking a finger, and Cullen climbed onto the bed. He kept his eyes fixed on Krem's face, slowly moving forward until he was straddling Krem's hips, and Krem ran his fingers down Cullen's thighs, smiling. 

“Look at you,” he purred, and Cullen squirmed, feeling a faint hint of a blush start up on his cheeks. Krem crooked his finger again, and Cullen leaned down, moaning softly as Krem nipped hard at his lip before kissing him, hot and hungry. Krem's hands came up, one fisting in his hair as the other stroked slow down his back. Cullen couldn't quite help rolling his hips down, and Krem huffed a laugh against his lips, tightening his grip and dragging him back. Cullen's eyes fluttered closed as his hips jerked, cock dragging against Krem's skin.

“Not yet,” Krem said with a grin, and pushed him back. Cullen went willingly, sliding back down as Krem draped himself across the bed. Legs hooked over his shoulders, and Cullen leaned down, kissing the junction of hip and thigh before settling down. Krem kept himself neatly trimmed, not shaved, and Cullen couldn't quite help nosing at him before his tongue slipped out to taste. Krem's hand tightened in his hair, and Cullen reached up to hook his hands on Krem's legs to hold himself still as he buried his face in deep and moaned.

It had been too damn long.

Krem let out a shout as Cullen flicked his tongue over his cock and sucked hard, eyes fluttering closed as Krem's hips rolled up to press firm against his face. “Fuck!”

Cullen smiled to himself, tongue dragging flat over him before he went back to work finding a good rhythm. Krem snarled when he was on the third pattern, dragging on his hair, and Cullen couldn't quite help his pleased grin before doing it again. Krem was hot against him, his mouth full of the not-taste of sex and mouth gone slack from want. Almost absently, he wondered if Krem would ever ride his face, and his hips jerked at the thought of being so wonderfully pinned down, colorful thighs squeezing him tight.

Krem was worked up enough that it wasn't long before he was tugging insistently at Cullen's hair, and Cullen pressed in close, waiting until he could feel Krem tremble to flick his tongue over his cock again and suck, hard. Krem came with a sharp, helpless yell, thighs going tight around Cullen's head to hold him there as Cullen gently lapped at him.

“Fuck,” Krem breathed, hips twitching as Cullen carefully pulled away, sitting back on his heels and looking down. Krem grinned at him, clearly dazed. “Who taught you that?”

“It's a long story,” Cullen said, banishing the thought of cold eyes and long blond hair, a heart shaped face and a cruel smile. “But I had a lot of practice in the Circle. There's not that much to do besides patrol, and there were... there was someone who pursued me very aggressively.” He licked his lips, smiling. “Well?”

Krem flopped back, groaning in pleasure. “Damn.”

Cullen chuckled, leaning down to kiss his neck, worrying a possessive little bruise there low enough to hide. Krem gently stroked through his hair, tugging sharply if Cullen used too much tooth.

“Give me a moment to breathe and then I'm going to fuck you into the mattress,” he said with loving fondness, and Cullen's hips jerked.

oOo

The purple dick was set aside for another night in favor of one a tad smaller and flesh toned, and Cullen stared at it with some trepidation. He'd been given a glimpse at the rest of Krem's toy box and while this was nothing compared to a positively terrifying monstrous pink and green _dragon_ dick (“Bull has a shit sense of humor. Should have gotten it in a nice black.” “... _What?_ ”), it was still something he'd never done and hadn't ever really expected to do.

“We don't _have_ to do this,” Krem said, harness on and his hand on Cullen's thigh. “If you want, we can do something else, or nothing at all.”

“No,” Cullen said firmly, “I want this.” He lifted Krem's hand to kiss the back of it with no small amount of reverence. Looking up through his lashes, he grinned. “I can't think of anyone else I'd rather lose my virginity to.”

Krem snorted, smiling despite himself. “You dork.”

“It's been said.” Cullen kissed the inside of Krem's wrist, smiling against his skin. “Fuck, you're gorgeous.”

“It's been said.”

Cullen laughed, laying back as Krem pushed on him with his free hand. Condoms had been grabbed and rolled on, and he lifted his hips obediently for Krem to slide a pillow under them. Krem spared a moment to grin down at him, far too pleased.

“You look smug,” Cullen teased, smiling.

“I've got a gorgeous man in my bed that I get to deflower,” Krem said, running his hands over Cullen's chest. Cullen exhaled slowly, shivering pleasantly. “And, personally, I'm really invested in seeing how you look when I take you apart with my cock.”

Cullen managed a faint noise, arching up a little when Krem dragged his nails down his chest. His eyes fluttered closed, head thumping hard against the pillow as Krem bent over to bite and kiss along his collarbones, sucking bruises in a line down each. His toes were curled by the time Krem decided he was done. His whole body felt faintly hazy with lust.

“Ready?”

“ _Please_ ,” he breathed, and Krem grabbed the lube from the bedside table. 

He'd never done much exploring of his body. For one thing, there was only so much sexual exploring one could do while in a room with up to fourteen other boys of a similar age. He managed to figure out quick and fast, and then came _her_ and he figured a few more things out. But then Kinloch fell and he was shipped unceremoniously to Kirkwall, where he rose too quick through the ranks to be allowed anywhere near the Rose. The lyrium definitely didn't help.

“So, you've never done this?” Krem said conversationally as he worked a finger in. Cullen shook his head, uncertain about how he felt. 

“Never had the chance. And, well. The lyrium- oh that felt almost nice- the lyrium suppresses desire. Well- _fuck_!” He jolted as Krem crooked a finger. Krem chuckled, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

“Good boy. What were you saying about the lyrium?”

Cullen was breathing heavily, and struggled to get himself back under control. “When, when you're off of it for a while, as a punishment or- ohhh, fuck- or something, then put back on it, it's a huge rush. There- fuck, please, do that again.” Krem shifted and curled his finger slightly, and Cullen's breath turned into stutters while his toes curled. It wasn't white hot pleasure, more of a slow, rich burn. “ _Damn_.”

“Feels good, doesn't it,” Krem smiled, bending down to kiss his chest. 

Cullen gave up on speaking after that, noting when more fingers were added, letting Krem check in when needed, and quietly savoring the steady burn of desire. There were plenty of uncomfortable moments, but Krem was patient, and kept running a gentle hand over his side. He whined faintly when Krem pulled his fingers out, and Krem chuckled, nipping at his collarbone.

“How do you want to do this?” Krem asked, running the hand not slick with lube over Cullen's chest, nails leaving red marks. “Back, front, on my lap... any preference?”

Cullen shuddered, cock twitching. “I- I want to watch you.”

“Oh?” Krem said archly, leaning forward so his cock pressed into Cullen's hip. “Do you like that? Watching?”

Cullen went brilliant red, squirming and looking away, and Krem chuckled low and hungry. Cullen couldn't help his smile as Krem kissed his forehead, lingering there while his fingers traced patterns over his ribs.

“Sweet thing, I am going to _wreck_ you.”

“I'm counting on it,” Cullen said, gasping as Krem's hand wrapped around him and urged him back to full hardness. 

“I think,” Krem said, his voice a delicious low rumble, “that I should put on a show for you some time.” Cullen whined, turning his head back to pull Krem into a desperate kiss. Krem bit at his lip punishingly until he settled, gently and calming back down until his firm control. Krem pulled back once he was satisfied, smirking with kiss swollen lips.

“Legs up,” he said, flicking Cullen's hip to make him jump. Cullen did as asked, going even more red as he draped his legs over Krem's shoulders. “Don't get too comfortable, we'll be moving those in a little bit.”

“Yes sir,” Cullen said without thinking, and promptly squawked, throwing his hands over his face. Krem ran a soothing hand over his thigh, chuckling.

“We need to stop? I don't want to be pushing you.”

Cullen made a vaguely pained sound. “This is what near 20 years in a military organization gets you,” he groaned, and Krem laughed, patting his hip. "It's... I don't like to be _forced_ to say it. Does that make sense?"

“It does. I'd be lying if I said I didn't get like that too,” he admitted, and Cullen peeked out from between his fingers. “I'm serious. Have you _seen_ Tevinter military uniforms?”

“Yes,” Cullen said, going red again. “They're... tight. Very pretty. Very... very tight.”

“You have _no_ idea.” Krem moved forward, and Cullen's head thumped against the pillow again as he lined up. “At least we don't have skirts.”

“It's _not_ \- FUCK.” 

Krem pushed in as Cullen lifted his head indignantly and Cullen promptly went pliant, whining low in the back of his throat. Krem laughed, low and throaty, running a soothing hand over his tight core. “Shhh, relax.”

“They're robes with armor over,” Cullen panted out, and Krem laughed, waiting til he'd relaxed a little more to push further in. “A skirt i-is a separate article of clothing! I mean, the bottom is _called_ a skirt but it's no-ohhhh, please.”

“You're taking this pretty seriously,” Krem teased, pulling Cullen's legs off and wrapping them around his waist. Cullen gripped him hard, and Krem leaned down, grabbing his hand and tangling their fingers together as he pressed slowly in, until Cullen was barely breathing and Krem was fully seated in him. He pressed their foreheads together, and they shared breath while Cullen slowly relaxed again.

“Krem,” Cullen breathed, lightly nosing at him. “Krem, please, kiss me?”

“Whenever you want,” Krem said, his voice ragged, and Cullen moaned softly against his mouth as they traded slow, slick kisses. Krem whispered soft praise with each pause for breath, until it was hard to tell where the words stopped and air began. Cullen squeezed his hand, and finally nodded, stealing one more kiss before laying back. 

“Ready?”

“Ready,” Cullen said, and Krem slowly pulled back. Cullen grabbed the sheets, clinging to them tightly as his vision whited out for a moment. The world came roaring back, and Krem squeezed his hand before pushing back forward.

“Fuck,” Cullen breathed as his body lit up, back arching. Krem was practically radiant above him, with his huge, beautiful smile and wicked eyes. He tightened his legs around Krem, urging him faster. Krem moved so he had a better angle and drove forward, and Cullen let out a shout as he started nailing the perfect spot. Krem bent over him, letting go so he could bracket Cullen with his arms and bite bruises into his neck and collar. The firm muscle of his stomach dragged over Cullen's cock so sweetly as he worked him over, and Cullen let out a string of filthy curses in everything from Orlesian to Arcanum. 

“Come on,” Krem breathed into his ear. “It's okay. Let go, let me see you.”

He arched up, half sobbing out Krem's name as he came, fingers raking down Krem's back, heart pounding half to bursting. He felt completely surrounded by warmth, safe and secure in the knowledge that nothing was going to take this from him. Krem helped him through the aftershocks, pressing soft kisses over his cheeks and neck until he was squirming with over stimulation.

“ _Krem_ ,” he breathed, and Krem chuckled, carefully sitting up and rubbing his legs soothingly. 

“You did so good,” he praised, and Cullen let out a broken little noise as he carefully pulled out. The harness came off easily and was tossed off to the side, and Cullen grabbed him to pull him back down, clinging tightly. Krem chuckled, throwing an arm over him to hold him close.

“That,” Cullen said, “was _amazing_.”

Krem kissed his forehead, slinging a leg over him. “Well thank you.” He couldn't quite help his smug grin. “Feels good to pay you back.”

“I'll eat you out daily if it means more of that,” Cullen said, yawning so wide his jaw cracked. “Fuck, I'd do it anyway.”

Krem laughed, kissing him again. “Okay, Cullen. I'll hold you to that. Stay put, I'm going to grab a rag.”

“Okay,” Cullen said, and made no move to let him go. Krem raised an eyebrow, and Cullen looked away, a little pink.

“Would you like me to sta-”

“Please for just a little bit longer,” Cullen said in a rush, and Krem smiled.

“A little longer it is.”

oOo

Cullen woke up half hard and pressed tight against Krem. He groaned softly, pressing his face into Krem's neck, and relaxed as he felt Krem's fingers scratch gently at his scalp. His hips ached some, and he knew he'd be walking with a bit of a limp, but he was currently riding the satisfaction of the well-fucked. He'd been cleaned up at some point, and Krem had changed from his binder to a hugely oversized black shirt that was soft to the skin.

“Morning, sunshine,” Krem said, his voice gravelly with sleep.

“Time's it?” Cullen slurred, and Krem chuckled, picking up his phone.

“Seven even. When's work?”

“Nine.” Cullen nuzzled at him, and was rewarded with more scratches. “Could call in, even. I've never taken a day.”

Krem turned his head, kissing the top of Cullen's head. “The Chief wants us at his place around twelve.”

“Mmm, pity,” Cullen sighed, and relaxed as Krem gripped the back of his neck.

Krem yawned, jaw cracking loudly at he did. “I have something to ask you, by the way.”

“Mm?”

Krem rolled over onto his side, sliding out from under Cullen so that he could drape his arm over Cullen's waist and pull him closer. “I'm going to be out of town for the weekend. Just Saturday and Sunday, we're flying in Sunday afternoon. Would you get me from the airport?”

“Of course,” Cullen nodded, smiling. “I take it you have a way there?”

“I'm riding with Skinner and Dalish. But they don't fly well, and they'll be headed somewhere else after.” Krem ran his fingers through Cullen's hair, scratching gently at the scalp, and Cullen melted a little. His face went a little more serious. “Last night... was everything okay? Did I push you too hard or anything?”

“What? Oh, no,” Cullen said, shaking his head vehemently. “Last night was wonderful. I've- well. I've never really felt so safe during sex in my whole life.”

Krem frowned, hand resting in Cullen's hair. “You must have been with some really shitty people.”

“You might say that,” Cullen said quietly, fingers tracing absent patterns over Krem's hip. “I- well. There was this girl, in Kinloch Hold. Solana Amell. You've probably heard of her.”

Krem's eyes went wide as saucers. “ _The_ Solana Amell?”

“That's the one. She, um. She decided she wanted me, and didn't care that I turned her down over and over, she was going to have me. And eventually, she did. I caved. And then she taught me what she wanted in a sexual partner.” He twitched a little, hand tightening on Krem's hip. “She... She was what I wanted. Firm. Unyielding. She kept me very firmly under control, gave me... direction, I suppose. But I was always a little afraid. What if I failed her? What would she do to me?” He couldn't quite keep his voice even. “But then she left, maybe a month after we started sleeping together. And that was that.”

“Cullen...”

“It's fine,” he interrupted, pressing his face against Krem's chest. “It was a long time ago, and I'm not that man anymore. I'm here, with you, and the past is just that.”

Krem kissed the top of his head, stroking his back. “Yeah...” he said quietly. “It's just the past.”

oOo

Grim was leaning on the side of the house when Krem rumbled up to it, smoking and looking entirely unconcerned. Krem swung off the bike, popping open his jacket. “Chief's gonna give you shit for that,” he said cheerily, and Grim just smiled, offering it to him. Krem waved him off He'd quit nearly a year previous and it was still a fight to keep from starting up again. Grim shrugged, and took a long drag, exhaling smoke in his face. Krem punched his shoulder and headed inside, a spring in his step. Cullen had made good on his promise of eating out, and Krem was pretty sure he was going to have a hard time eating breakfast without getting turned on for the next little while.

“Morning, boss,” he yelled, and there was a muffled sound of voices calling back from the back garden. He walked out onto the patio, stretching as he saw the team. Bull's back yard was quietly elegant, with a rock garden on the left and some carefully designed flower beds and seating on the right. A wooden rake leaned against the back fence, apparently freshly used since the gravel was in new patterns. Bull was holding court, sipping red tea in an over sized chair. 

Krem grinned, heading over, and Bull laughed, setting the tea down on the little table beside him.

“So, how was it?”

Krem laughed, spreading his arms, and Bull grinned, nodding approvingly as the rest of the Chargers let out cheers and wolf whistles. Krem dropped into the chair at his right hand, and Bull passed him a file.

“Your job while you're in Val Royeaux.”

Krem opened it up to the picture of a Royan with a particularly ugly mask, and grinned. “You get me the best presents.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I remind you all gently that this is a mob AU, Samson shows up, and Mahanon has A Bad Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for Mahanon getting misgendered once in about the middle of the chapter.

“You got laaaid,” Sera sang as she swung into Cullen's office later that day. Today she was wearing plaid and yellow, the plaid an aggressive red pattern that marked it as belonging to the area around Redcliffe. “I saw you, all walking slow and hitched. Have fun?”

Cullen groaned, burying his face in his hands. The paperwork was piled up around him, a royal mess. (Almost literally. There was an application from some minor nobility in there somewhere.) “ _Sera_.”

“What? Good on you.” She punched his shoulder and dropped a file on his desk. “Ink wants this in like, 20. Just needs signature shit. C'mon, up you get.”

Cullen sighed, lifting his head and sighing dramatically. “If I must.”

“Yeah, you must, so hurry up. I got shit to do. Dorian wants me running half way across the city to that other law place that does that thing.”

Cullen signed the papers without looking, handing them back to Sera. “What thing?”

“That thing. That thing that Ink doesn't do?”

“...Tax law?”

“That's the thing.”

Cullen had no idea why Dorian would need to know anything about tax law, but decided ignoring it would be in his best interest.

“Best of luck to you,” he mumbled, and Sera was out the door.

She'd been gone less than thirty seconds when Madame de Fer walked in, mile high heels clicking sharply on the floor despite the carpet. She always dressed with impeccable taste, and today's dress was a shimmering silver, a form fitting thing with a terrifying deep neckline. He rather desperately fixed his eyes on the necklace she wore, the circle pendant on it declaring her a traditionalist and still bound to a Circle. She was technically part of the Orlesian court, not the Circle as she claimed to be, but had arranged to come and work with them for the time being.

“Ah, Madame Vivienne,” he said with a tight smile. Vivienne rarely came to speak with him, and the last few times she had he had been left feeling like he'd been personally beaten by words alone. It wasn't a fun sensation. “What is it you need?”

“Oh, I need nothing. I simply came to thank you for attending the other night.” She gave him a surprisingly warm smile, and he straightened up a little, surprised. “I saw that you and Cremisius danced quite well together.”

Did _everyone_ in this city know Bull's people aside from him?

“Ah, thank you,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was quite a good evening, you've got a lovely voice. Thank you for extending the invitation. Do you perform often?”

She shrugged one shoulder in a very Orlesian way, elegant and decidedly refined. “When I have the time and opportunity. It's a pleasant hobby, one my dear Bastien insists I keep up. I will let you know if I have another coming up, darling.” She favored him with another smile, and headed towards the door. “Do tell Cremisius I said hello.”

“Of course, ma'am.”

oOo

The airport was on the small side, and cramped. It was a loud, echoing place, and Cullen shifted uncomfortably, constantly nervous and a little wild eyed as he helped Krem get his things (one backpack, one very long duffel bag, one very serious steel briefcase) in order before he made his way through security. He'd fully intended to simply call him to have a good flight, and then had panicked at the last minute. So, he'd ended up taking him there as well. Krem wasn't complaining.

“I'll be back in the 8:30 flight if everything goes well,” Krem said, cupping the back of Cullen's head and stroking the short hairs there. “You alright?”

Cullen nodded, leaning in to put his head on Krem's shoulder. “I can't say I'm fond of planes,” he said, hand dropping to rest at Krem's hip. “They... They worry me. Please be careful.”

Krem huffed a laugh, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. “I will be,” he said, running his hand over Cullen's back. “I'll be home before you know it. Don't worry about me, I know how to handle myself just as well as you do.”

“Probably better,” Cullen admitted, sighing as he stepped back. Krem reached up, cupping his cheek before kissing him. 

“I'll call you when we land,” he promised, and Cullen felt the knot in his chest ease a little. “Soon as I'm off the plane, I promise. It's a short flight in, and even though the Charles de Guardin airport is actually the most fucked up airport I've ever seen, they have good cell reception.”

“I hate Val Royeaux,” Cullen muttered petulantly, and Krem laughed, kissing him again.

“Lucky for you, you're not going. I'll bring you back a scarf or something. The most hideous scarf I can find.”

Cullen grinned. “I'll wear it anyway, just because it's from you.”

“Sap.”

oOo

Cullen's apartment was, in a word, depressing.

He dropped his keys on the kitchen counter, looking out the rather grimy window over the sink. The view was gray and bland, a scrawny tree the only interesting piece of landscape, and he turned back away to look at the room. It wasn't much better. A short dresser was shoved into an open air closet, a series of unimpressive suits lining it. A single tall, skinny lamp sat in the corner, and his bed was a mattress on the floor, the sheets on it military tight and a quilt from his mother covering it in rich red and gold. It was the only real color in the room. There was no decoration.

It was a stark contrast from Krem's warm little home. The rich tones and comfortable Tevene furniture made it pleasant and comforting. Cullen's apartment looked like every halfway house for Templars he'd ever seen. At least this one didn't reek of old lyrium and fear sweat. 

It was already closing in on early evening, and he had nothing to do with himself for the weekend. He could only scrub down his apartment so many times before boredom overtook him like a living thing. Sighing, he walked over to the bed and let himself faceplant into his pillows.

He needed a hobby. Or a dog. Or both.

Or possibly just to get very, very drunk.

Rolling onto his back he stared up at the ceiling, and drifted off.

The buzzing of his phone jerked him back awake some time later, and he answered on auto pilot.

“Rutherford.”

“ _Hey, handsome,_ ” Krem's voice said down the line, and his lips curved into a smile.

“I take it you got there safely.”

“ _Yep. All smooth sailing the whole way there, not even any turbulence. This airport is as shit as ever though._ ” There was a faint sound of laughter, and Krem called something that he couldn't hear back at what was probably Dalish and Skinner. “ _Sorry about that. Well, it looks like I've got to run, but I'm here safe._ ”

“Stay that way,” Cullen said, his heart warm.

“ _Got it, sir,_ ” Krem teased, and Cullen groaned, chuckling.

“You're terrible. I'll see you on Sunday.”

“ _See you!_ ”

The phone call ended, and Cullen set his phone on the bedside table. Time for sleep, regardless of how early it was.

oOo

The jazz club was pleasantly full the following evening, the dance floor in full swing and the side booths occupied. Cullen slipped through the crowd with the ease of long practice, taking a seat at the bar. His shoulders finally loosened as he waited for the bartender- Blackwall, as he recalled- to finish up. It had been a long, gray day, and he he decided on a whim to go out just to feel better. So far, it was working.

Blackwall approached, sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal sturdy arms covered in tattoos. “Evening.”

“Evening. What've you got in the way of Marcher beers?”

“Not a drop, since what we ordered came from Starkhaven,” Blackwall said with a wry grin. “No one wants to piss off the powers that be for carrying Starkhaven made _anything_ , with the war on. I do have some solid Markham mead, and Kirkwall bloodwine. I think I've still got a few Tantervale bottles of schnapps, from when they tried to compete with the Anderfels.”

“A bottle of bloodwine, then,” Cullen said “I'm surprised you have any. I didn't know it got sent anywhere outside of Kirkwall.”

Blackwall shrugged one massive shoulder. He was bear of a man, broad and burly. “It showed up one day, haven't been able to sell it since.”

A low, raspy voice accompanied a hand falling on Cullen's shoulder. “That's because it's as nasty as Kirkwall herself. Another for me, would you?”

Raleigh Samson sat down next to him, and Cullen felt his blood chill. Blackwall turned to go and fetch it, and Samson leaned on the counter, smiling with sharp teeth.

“Look at you,” he said, eyes running over Cullen with cold assessment. “You don't look much like you used to. Healthier, I'll give you that. Little less haunted.”

“I'm out,” Cullen said stiffly, looking back at the rows of bottles behind the bar and checking the mirror. The band was changing out for fresh players, and the hum of conversation had picked up. A rowdy group in the back corner laughed, one broad bulk of a woman dragging a skinny younger man onto her lap as she joked with others of her group. A pair of sleekly dressed women were sharing a bottle of wine at one of the little round tables, slinky dresses glittering in the low light. The sea of people swayed back and forth. “I've left the Templars behind me.”

“Now Cullen, we both know that's not true,” Samson said, dark eyes flicking to where Blackwall was working. “We're never out, just off our leash.”

“What do you want?” Cullen said as Blackwall set the bottles in front of them, freshly heated, and wisely walked away after a glance between the two of them.

Samson stole Cullen's bottle and opened it for him, handing it back when Cullen glowered. “Ever thing I might just want to chat with an old friend?”

Cullen snorted, picking at the label on the bottle. The familiar smell of bloodwine hit his nose, bringing with it memories of hiding away in the back of the Hanged Man, watching Varric and his friends with heavy lidded eyes, Isabela leaning over next to him and teasing him until he felt light enough to breathe again. “You and I aren't friends. How the hell did you wind up here, anyway?”

“That hurts, Cullen,” Samson said, drinking. “The usual. Friend of a friend needed disposable labor and I was too damn hard to kill so I stuck around. Least I'm not begging anymore, yeah? Fuck, doesn't have near the kick of the Low Town stuff.”

Cullen drank, feeling the heat on his tongue. Usually made with chilis, cinnamon, cloves, ginger, oranges, brown sugar, both a red and a white wine, and brandy on top of it all, it was something of an acquired taste. The Hanged Man had served a wide variety of bloodwines, but their signature was a bloodwine that was strictly brandy, wine, chilis, and ginger. He wasn't surprised that Blackwall hadn't been able to sell it. It settled warm in his stomach, heating him from the inside out.

“You know,” he said quietly, “I don't miss the Gallows, but sea air? I miss that.”

Samson drank again. “Too damn cold. Joints ache something awful, you know?”

“Maker, yes.” Cullen passed the bottle from one hand to the other “Do you still...”

“Yeah. Don't want to die just yet, do I?” Samson looked at him. “You?”

Cullen shook his head. “I'm trying to go without it. Some days are worse than others.” He shrugged, and Samson sighed. 

“Here's to being fucked up,” he said, and they clinked bottles.

The group in the corner was getting louder, and one of the laughing men stumbled his way to the bar. Samson's eyes narrowed, fingers tightening. Cullen went still, automatically falling into old habits as Samson straightened and he hunched. _One low, one high, go for the knees first._ Samson had always been incredibly sensitive to when fights were about to break out.

“Oi,” the man said with a heavy Starkhaven accent. “Another round for the table.”

Blackwall was polishing glasses. “A moment,” he said, and the man scowled.

“ _Now_.”

Blackwall went still, and when he looked up it was with eyes hard as iron. “It will come when it comes. Go and take your seat.”

The Starkhavener, clearly missing the narrow ledge of Blackwall's patience, leaned in with a snarl. “None of our beer, none of our wine, none of our music, and you expect me to wait?”

“Not my fault,” Blackwall said coolly, and Cullen shivered as Samson's hand touched his shoulder, light, but ready to use him to help vault himself up if necessary. The tension was ramping up, and he could feel his muscles coiling for a fight.

“Not your fault, sure,” the Starkhavener sneared. “Just her ladyship the Inqui-”

“If you have any sense of self preservation,” Cullen snarled, rage boiling up like a living thing, “you'll hold your tongue.”

The Starkhavener turned, surprised, and sneered at him. Samson's hand was clawing hard into his shoulder.

“What?”

“I won't stand for slander and libel against the Inquisitor,” Cullen said, straightening up. “And if you don't want your grandchildren tied in litigation, you'll keep you mouth shut.”

“Fine, _his lordship_ the Inquisitor.” The Starkhavener leaned against the bar, and Cullen noted Blackwall quietly reaching underneath it, probably for the barmans bat that was usually there. “Still weak as shit though. Won't even make any of the fucking apostates Tranquil.”

After, Cullen would think it all went in very slow motion.

In reality, it was very, very fast.

oOo

The sharp rap of shoes down the hall had both of them on their feet almost before they thought about it. Samson's face was a bruised wreck, and Cullen's eye was thoroughly blacked. They fell into rest almost without thinking in front of the bars, and Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast rounded the corner and stopped in front of them, arms crossed. Her face was hard as she looked them both over.

“Former Knight-Commander Cullen Rutherford,” she said, her voice flinty. Cullen flinched. “Former Knight Raleigh Samson. Two men who I was not expecting to have in my holding cells this evening, especially not for brawling in a bar.” She began to pace in front of them. “The amazing thing is that no one will speak a word against you, not even the men who you both beat to a bloody pulp. They are not pressing charges. Blackwall is not pressing charges. No one in this whole affair wishes to charge anyone with anything, except for the desk sergeant, who wishes to charge you for being so difficult at the check in.”

That wasn't surprising, honestly.

She turned on her heel, glaring at them. “We have your statements,” she continued. “I will admit that I am... upset.”

“I won't apologize for this,” Cullen said flatly. “I've been complicit in enough sh- nonsense. Ma'am.”

“I do not expect you to apologize,” she said. “But the Inquisitor is on his way, along with The Iron Bull and one Dorian Pavus, and Maker help you if you think you're going to get out of this in one piece.”

Samson coughed awkwardly. “Apologies, Seeker Cassandra, but uh. Could I call my roommate? He's probably going to try and find me, with me being so late getting home, and he's in no shape to be roaming the streets.”

“Who is your roommate?”

Samson swallowed hard enough they could hear it. “Maddox. His name is Maddox, he's been made Tranquil.”

Cassandra froze, and Cullen found it suddenly very difficult to breathe. 

“Yes,” she said after a beat. “That seems wise.”

Cullen stepped back as she let Samson out. 

“You,” she said, pointing a stiff finger at him, “reflect on your foolishness.”

“Yes, Seeker,” he said, a little helpless, and watched as she cuffed Samson, being unusually careful with his bruised arm, and led him down the hall. 

They had just turned the corner when something she had said hit him.

“Wait...why them?”

oOo

The heavy thud of thick soled boots, neat tapping of brogues, and faint jingle-clink of reticulated golden shoes reached his ears, and Cullen closed his eyes in defeat before straightening his shoulders and brushing down his shirt. Samson, returned to their cell, cracked his eyes from where he'd been sprawled on the floor.

“Fuck's going on out there?”

“I'm about to get fired,” Cullen said miserably, and stood up. Samson sat up, and had just gotten to his feet when Mahanon appeared before the bars, Dorian and Bull flanking him. Bull was in a white tank and enormously over sized, eyewateringly garish pink shirt, while Dorian was in impeccable burgundy slacks with black shirt. Bull seemed amused, Dorian looked irate, and Mahanon was near incandescent with silent fury.

“Ser,” Cullen said softly.

Mahanon's lips thinned, and he glanced at Samson.

“Raleigh Samson,” Cullen said quietly. “A former knight from Kirkwall.”

Mahanon looked back at him, and his nostrils flared sharply as he exhaled with the deliberate slowness of a bull about to charge.

“I won't apologize, ser,” Cullen said, keeping his voice as quiet as he could to avoid triggering Mahanon's legendary headaches. “Not with what they said.”

“And what,” Mahanon said with pure ice in his tone, “did they say to warrant three broken bones, two split lips, a broken nose, multiple lacerations, and at least 2 thousand gold in damages?”

Cullen fought to keep his voice collected, but couldn't help the clench of his fists. “He said you were weak for not making mages Tranquil.”

“And he called you a woman, which was just icing on the cake,” Samson said bluntly. Mahanon's silver eyes flicked to him, narrowing for a moment before looking back to Cullen. Bull looked thoughtful, looking between the pair of them. Dorian just looked annoyed.

“I have been called many things worse than that.” Mahanon's mouth twitched in what might have been a smile or annoyance. “It's certainly not pleasant, but I think I will survive yet more slander against my body and my identity. And I certainly don't need any former Templars to defend my virtue.”

“Not implying you did, ser,” Samson said.

Cullen locked his jaw to keep from speaking, and Mahanon looked over to him again, eyes still hard as stone.

“What is your defense?” Mahanon said, his voice clipped and sharp.

Cullen locked his hands behind him to keep from showing how they shook. “I've let myself be taken by fear before,” he said. “I let my history drag me down, break me, make me believe that destroying minds was the only way to fix things. You've never looked at the Tranquil Solution with anything but disgust, as I should have, and didn't. I was not about to let some unknown idiot who thinks Starkhaven is the end all be all of the Marches call you weak for showing your strength.”

Mahanon considered him for a long moment, mouth pursed. “Your pay will be docked for the next two weeks for this stunt,” he said at last. “Next time, consider that you work for a law firm, and get it on camera instead. I will fight my own battles, Messare Rutherford.”

“Yes, ser.”

Mahanon glanced at Samson, eyes narrowing slightly before he turned on his heel and walked away.

“Deal with him,” he said shortly, and vanished around the corner.

“Dorian,” Bull said quietly, his eyes fixed on Cullen, “Would you go get the paperwork started?”

Dorian huffed softly, lips pursing into a little moue of displeasure. “Only since you asked nicely.” He stood on tip-toes to kiss Bull's cheek, and with a glance at the pair of them, walked away as well. Bull waited for him to be completely gone, the door at the end of the hall closing, before he turned an eye like a laser on them.

“Let me make myself as clear as possible,” he said, with the kind of calm that suggested murder was on the horizon. Cullen resisted the urge to step back, and Samson shifted uneasily. “We were in the middle of helping to orchestrate a deal that might actually make this damn city a safe place to live, and you two managed to beat up the Trevelyan twins lieutenant in that mess and we had to change the meeting. I strongly suggest you take some fucking precautions the next time you're out, in case you don't want to be framed for drug running or murdered.”

“Too late to be framed for it,” Samson muttered, and Cullen stepped on his foot.

“Understood, ser,” Cullen said, because he wasn't an idiot. 

“Good.” Bull sighed heavily, running a hand over his face. “Mahanon is going to rip you to shreds when you go in to work. He's furious.”

“Understandably,” Cullen said quietly. “But I wasn't about to let that slide.”

“I know you couldn't.” Bull sighed again, rubbing his eyepatch. “But you get to tell Krem that you got arrested.”

oOo

The drive home was incredibly quiet. Samson had been released into the company of Maddox, who Cullen couldn't quite bear to look at, and he had been handed off to Bull and Dorian. He sat in the back of the massive SUV, watching as Bull quietly rubbed his thumb over the back of Dorian's hand and Dorian stared silently out the window.

“Quiet night otherwise,” Bull said softly, and Dorian made a quiet sound in the back of his throat. “Hey, it's okay. We can reschedule.”

Cullen shrank back into his seat, feeling as if he were intruding.

“I know we can,” Dorian said quietly, his hand tightening on Bull's.

Bull squeezed his hand, and Dorian closed his eyes, a flicker of pain crossing his face. 

“It's gonna be okay,” Bull murmured. “What's one more night?”

Dorian managed a small smile, and Bull started humming quietly. 

The rest of the drive back was silent, and Cullen climbed out when they reached the little, run down apartment building that belonged to him.

“Cullen,” Bull said, and he froze.

“Yes?”

“A word of friendly advice.”

Cullen frowned, glancing at Dorian, but Dorian's expression revealed nothing. “Um, yes?”

“Your cell mate's not one I'd be looking to spend more time with,” Bull said seriously. “I'd keep away from him, if I were you. He keeps nasty company.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Cullen said cautiously. “Thank you for bringing me home.”

Bull nodded, and Cullen headed up the stairs, feeling more confused than ever. A few tries for the key in the dark got the door open, and he flicked on the light to his familiar, barren little rooms. Hanging his keys on their hook, his shed his clothes on the way to his mattress and collapsed on it with a _whumph_ of air. 

“What a night,” he told the pillow. It was entirely unsympathetic. “Maybe I should just get a dog.”

And with that, sleep swarmed up to claim him.

oOo

“So,” Bull said as they were driving back to his home, “Raleigh Samson.”

“Raleigh Samson,” Dorian said, eyes hard as steel. “Current head of a group calling themselves The Red Templars, notorious for using that corrupted lyrium that keeps popping up, at least according to the file that I managed to find while the bullpen was more or less empty. Veteran of Kirkwall's Gallows, lyrium addict, former smuggler of young mages, later changed his tune and began thinking that Stannard had the right idea, at least for a short time. He's mentioned repeatedly in Varric's bloody book. An ex templar with a Tranquil roommate who's the very reason he was kicked out of the Order, who dresses in clothes far nicer than his own and who seems truly determined to protect him, from what I gathered when I ran into him back at the station. An interesting situation.”

Bull drummed his fingers on the wheel. “We'll have to keep an eye on Messare Samson. The Red Templars are an anomoly, and we know how Mahanon feels about those.”

“Work around them, and if you can't, destroy them,” Dorian said with a wry smile. He lifted Bull's hand, kissing the back of it. “I do love you.”

Bull smiled, turning their hands so he could kiss Dorian's. “I love you too, _kadan_.”

Dorian settled back, content. “Bull?”

“Yes?”

“Promise me if they try to ruin our hard work, we'll crush them like ants.”

“You got it, big guy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kirkwall bloodwine is a mix between a few different recipes for Klingon bloodwine and hot spiced wine which is usually part of Christmas celebrations when people go caroling. I couldn't help myself.
> 
> Also, I will probably be removing the Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus tag from the relationship section to the additional tags section when the next chapter updates, on account of it being the secondary ship. So you may want to subscribe to this, or bookmark it, or something.
> 
> As always, you can find me on tumblr under the same name.


	5. Chapter 5

Krem had handled a lot of spectacularly shitty jobs in his life, and was unbelievably relieved that this was not turning out to be one of them. Val Royeaux had proved to be her usual accommodating self. The hotel was excellent, the beds perfectly made and the service impeccable. The men and women serving in the restaurants had all been that same, ethereal beauty that the city bred for even more than Tevinter's alti did. The weather had been pristine, neither too warm nor too cold. Settling down in a comfortable chair, he relaxed and picked up the glass of rosé that had been left out on a little table for him in the little villa on the outskirts that they were conducting their business in.

Across the small table, trembling slightly, was a man in a mask. His clothes were extravagant, poorly made but well within what was proper in upper class fashion, and his lips twitching. He looked for all the world like a rabbit that had just been caught and informed that it was about to be made into stew. Krem sipped from his glass, savoring the taste. It was an excellent vintage, and he made a note of the year before turning his attention back to the man.

“Please understand,” he said, setting the glass aside as Skinner began sharpening her knives in a corner. “I know that Orlais is its own little world, and you have all the proper ways of going about things here, but you crossed a line. La Famille wasn't happy when my boss contacted them. As you well know, Messare de Lieux, there are rules to our little games, and you ignored all of them. Certain things, certain people? Completely off limits. And to attack the partner of a boss in the heart of Haven?” He tsked, lifting his glass to sip again. “Well, that was just stupid.” He topped off the glass, smiling to himself. “And the dread Inquisitor's dear friend, at that. The Crows, the Carta, the imperators of the Blood Market in Tevinter, even the Grand Armada have all declared you anathema. You don't want to know what the Nevarran's have to say. The _grand mon_ of the Val Royeaux Famille has suggested that you be removed. And who am I to deny La Famille when their goals mesh so well with mine?”

Ponchard de Lieux swallowed hard. Krem set his glass back down, letting his smile drop.

“And,” he said, his voice deadly cold, “you thought you could blackmail the Inquisitor to get favor in the courts. Inquisitor Lavellan's schedule is too busy to allow him to come and deal with you personally, wrapping you in so much litigation you'd die of strangulation, but my boss sent me to handle this for free. A favor for a friend, no strings attached.” He stood, and Ponchard flinched in his chair. From her perch in the window, Dalish snickered.

“Please,” Ponchard begged. “Anything you want, I'll give you people anything you want.”

“Will you now?” 

The sound of Skinner's blades on the leather strop was wicked.

“Yes, yes, anything!”

Krem's smile was all teeth. “Good. Let's start with just where to find this list of people...”

oOo

Val Royeaux was always splendid at night. On the balcony of his hotel room, Krem settled onto a lounge chair in a plush robe and let himself relax. Far below in the streets he could hear cheerful voices and laughter ringing out, the night market in full swing even at 2 in the morning. Haven had a night market as well, a twice a year even hidden away in the basement of a different building each year. Unlike Val Royeaux's casual trinkets and vintage clothing, the Haven market was for far more expensive things- not always legal things. While La Famille would certainly be buying contracts for hits among the cheerful Royans, Haven was far more explicit in their dealings.

His phone rang, and he lifted it to see Cullen's number. Smiling, he answered.

“Hey, handsome. Little late for you to be up, isn't it?”

“ _You could say that. Got a bit of sleep in but woke up and had to take some pain killers,_ ” Cullen said guiltily down the line, and Krem frowned.

“Painkillers? What happened?”

“ _...I got arrested after a bar fight._ ”

Krem sat bolt upright, eyes wide. “What? Are you okay? Do I need to fly out and bust some heads for you? I can catch a flight in- let me see, a half hour.”

Cullen's soft chuckle eased a little of the strain in his chest. “ _No, I'm okay. I was at the jazz club and someone- well. Let's just say they misgendered the Inquisitor and said he was weak for not making people Tranquil. I took offense on his behalf. I came out okay all told, just got a nasty black eye. And bruised ribs. And a split lip. But I, uh. Erm. I broke the Trevelyan's first lieutenants ribs in two places._ ”

Krem's jaw dropped. “What the fuck, Cullen.”

“ _Ex-Templar. I know how to handle myself. Wouldn't have survived more than a year in Kirkwall if I hadn't. And he was a Starkhavener._ ”

“Andraste's blessed tits,” Krem said, flopping back in his chair. “You beat up Padraig Faurel and _broke his ribs_. Do you have any idea how hot that is?”

Cullen made a slight choking noise, followed by a cough. “ _I haven't mentioned that the Inquisitor, Bull, and Dorian were in a meeting with the Trevelyan's when this happened and were forced to cut it short. It's not good, Krem._ ”

“Oh,” he said, wincing. “No, that's definitely not good. What happened?”

“ _They're rescheduling the meeting, from what I gathered. Doesn't look like any permanent harm was done. My pay's been docked for the next few weeks, but I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Mahanon's dealt with enough shit, and one more asshole I can punch for him is a win in my books._ ”

“So, just to be sure I've got this right,” Krem said, getting up and shedding his robe as he walked into his room, “you beat up how many people?”

“ _Well, Samson helped-_ ”

“Babe.”

“ _10 people were involved, all told._ ”

“Maker. You beat up 10 people, including Padraig “The Slaughterhouse” Faurel, in a jazz club, because they insulted Mahanon's views on Tranquility and misgendered him. After which, you got arrested, have a black eye, split lip, and bruised ribs and took a two week pay cut to pay for how much in damages?”

“ _2,000 gold_ ,” Cullen muttered.

Krem laughed helplessly. “I'm gone less than a full day and already you manage to get yourself into this much trouble. I'm a bad influence on you, handsome.”

He could hear Cullen's smile as he said, “ _I can think of worse people to be influenced by._ ”

“Smooth. Now I can't wait to get home,” Krem said, strapping on his small wrist knife and grabbing a suit jacket to hide his tattoos. Cullen deserved a nice little reward for his work, and with the night market in full swing, surely he could find something that would make a suitable present.

“ _Why_?”

“Because as a reward, I'm going to take you apart until you can't remember your own name,” Krem said, letting his voice sink even lower, and relished the slight rattle of Cullen's breath over the phone. “Of course, I should probably punish you for making me worry and deal with Dorian when he calls to complain about the meeting to me.”

“ _Oh?_ ” Cullen asked archly. “ _Are we at the stage of playing games now_?”

“Do you want to be?”

“ _Maker, yes._ ”

Krem chuckled, ruffling his hair before slipping his gun into the holster at the small of his back and draping the coat over it. “Eager, I like it. You might act like a shy little virgin sometimes but damn, you're anything but. So, handsome, feel free to tease yourself all you like, but no getting off til I'm there to do it for you.”

Cullen groaned, but without much heat. “ _I'll be counting the minutes til your plane lands._ ”

Krem smirked, pleased with himself. “That's what I like to hear. At least I'm not gone for a week.” He paused as Cullen let out a quiet noise, smile broadening. “Oh. That something you might be interested in?”

“ _It's very tempting,_ ” Cullen said in a rush, and Krem could imagine how red his face was.

“I'll keep that in mind,” Krem drawled, smug. “Be good and we'll talk about it some more tomorrow. And maybe if you're lucky, I'll let you eat out before we get to the real party.”

Cullen's groan of want was more than worth the slightly scandalized look that Krem got from a Chantry mother who passed him on the stairs. He gave her a lazy salute and wink and headed down. “ _You certainly aren't going to make this easy for me._ ”

“Not a chance, sweetheart. You'll have to settle for sweet dreams and some good old fashioned lusting.”

“ _Tragic_ ,” Cullen drawled, and Krem laughed. “ _I'll see you tomorrow. I should be there when you touch down._ ”

“Looking forward to it,” Krem said, smiling. “Go get some more sleep, handsome.”

“ _Sir, yes sir,_ ” Cullen joked. “ _Good night._ ”

“Night,” Krem said, still smiling as he ended the call and strolled through the lobby and out into the streets. The night market was less than a block away, and he slipped through the throngs of people with ease into the square. It reminded him a little of the markets in Vyrantium, without the perpetual smell of fresh fish. Sellers haggled with buyers, couples giggled in the alcoves over food, and there was the ever present men and women whose eyes were just a little too hard as they walked the crowd. His fingers itched for something to do, to lift a couple wallets just to prove that he could, but he squashed the instinct. He wasn't a starving 12 year old any more. 

He paused at a stand with some books, and had just picked up a rather battered and ancient copy of one of his favorites when a man stepped up beside him.

“And what is Messare Aclassi doing so far out of his 'ome town?” A liquid voice said, and he sighed, setting the book down and turning. The man wore a small mask, a mere domino with gold and white checkers. He wasn't much taller than Krem, and a long scar ran from under his left eye to his jaw.

“Evening, Lucian. I'm mixing business with pleasure.”

“Mm.” Lucian linked their arms, leading him back into the crowd. “And yet ai am told you 'ave a flight tomorrow afternoon. A short break do you not think?”

Krem sighed, his patience already wearing thin. “Not all of us can afford three weeks in sunny Rivain. I'm only at the market to get a gift for my man, alright? My business is already complete, you can speak to Sabine about it. I got her permission before I came in.”

Lucian gave him a bit of side eye, but shrugged one shoulder in a very Orlesian way. “Very well.” They paused in front of the fountain, and Lucian released him, reaching into his jacket to pull out an envelope. “Ai am told that a little bird will want this when you return to your 'umble abode. Our sister is most gracious to La Famille.”

“Lady Nightingale is a magnificent woman,” Krem agreed, taking the envelope and storing it away. “Tell the _grand mon_ that Ponchard shouldn't be a problem now. If he is, feel free to give me a call. I don't like unfinished business, and Bull likes it even less.”

Lucian inclined his head, the faintest hint of a bow. “Far be it from me to let deny our Fereldan cousins their fun, or Messare The Iron Bull's most esteemed partner his due. Ai 'old few people in such 'igh regard as Serah Dorian.”

Krem chuckled. “He's quite something.”

“'E is that.” Lucian leaned forward, and they exchanged cheek kisses. “Ai 'ope you 'ave an excellent evening, _mon ami_. Travel safely tomorrow.”

“Will do.” Krem sketched a lazy salute, and Lucian melted back into the crowd with ease. Krem shoved his hands in his pockets, whistling softly as he walked back to the rows of stalls. A jewelry stall caught his eye, and he picked up a pair of earrings for Dorian with real emeralds in them for pennies. An old journal at another stall became a gift for Grim, a dawnstone vase for Bull, and an exceptionally fine Steel Age dagger for Mahanon joined the bag. And then he saw it.

“Excuse me,” he said, stepping up to a stall of old clothes, “that coat- what are you asking for it?”

oOo

Dorian rarely emerged from his hiding hole down in the Archives, content to putter about in the dust and history. This was a situation that suited all involved, generally speaking. Few people dared trespass into the sanctum where a mage powerful enough to raise the dead held court, and word got around fast in the city the one time a thief had tried. He handpicked three interns to handle the filing with him, and only those three were allowed to remove anything from the Archives.

And, of course, the man quietly slipping through the shadows towards Dorian's office.

Mahanon all but materialized inside the room, and Dorian glanced up from a file without so much as a twitch.

“Should you be here?” Mahanon asked, setting Dorian's usual order from the bakery down on the desk. “It's Sunday, the Chantry appointed day of rest and reflection.”

“While I'm certain my sainted grandmother Thalrassian is rolling over in her grave that her youngest's child is a heretic working for a Southern born elf, I don't particularly care to partake in the Southern rituals of the Chantry.” Dorian picked up the coffee, humming his appreciation. “Thank you, Mahanon. And what about yourself? Why are you here?”

Mahanon folded himself bonelessly into a chair, silver eyes going to the window to look out over the view. It was rather uninspiring, but at least the weak Haven sunlight somewhat came through. “Extra hours on the Mother Renfield case. She aggravates me. I despise corruption within the Chantry especially, and I enjoy watching those abusing faith fall into the clutches of Justice.”

“Ah, sweet Justice. A cold and yet so satisfying mistress.” Dorian reached over, handing him a file. “Here, precedent for you to use. I found it a few hours ago. And another, for whenever we finally get to file suit against the Chantry as a whole against the genocide of the Dales. I've compiled a file on the Red Templars as well, beginning with Samson and carrying on down what lieutenants we know about. They have an interesting group structure, very regimented.”

“You do know how to make my day better.”

Mahanon took it and they fell into companionable silence as they read. Mahanon finished the file and set it aside, looking thoughtfully out the window.

“I am grateful to know you,” he said abruptly, his words stilted and sharp. “And I am grateful for your help in finding proper attire.”

Dorian looked up, eyes softening a little. He closed the file, turning to compose himself for a moment. “I am grateful to know you, as well,” he said softly, his voice a little clipped. “It... It has not been easy, these past few years, and you've made it much better. You have been more than generous to me, and anything I can do to repay that kindness would be worth the cost. And being your friend?” He finally turned to look at Mahanon, almost shy. “It's no burden, that's for certain.”

Mahanon ducked his head to hide his smile, a rare display of easy movement. Everything he did was slow and calculated, and Dorian smiled at the look of simple pleasure on his face.

“To move to less emotionally fraught things,” Dorian said, “Krem and Cullen.”

“Ah.” Mahanon's smile widened. “I like them, even if Cullen has moved to my list of people who should suffer for the week. An excellent, if odd pair. I wouldn't have put them together on first thought, but they're pairing up nicely.”

“Very nicely,” Dorian agreed. “And so quickly. You'd think they'd been dating for months, the way they act. And it hasn't even been a full week, has it?”

Mahanon smiled, about to answer when his phone buzzed. He answered with a brisk, “Inquisitor Lavellan speaking.” He didn't seem like he was angry at the caller, and actually smiled at their response. “Ah, yes, I'm glad to hear it. Everything went well? You had no issues with the retrieval?”

Dorian went back to his files, flicking through the pages. 

“Ah, good. Yes, he's right here.” Mahanon turned the phone aside. “Krem says hello and not to expect to see him tonight.”

“I wonder why,” Dorian chuckled. “Tell him hello for me.”

“Dorian says hello as well,” Mahanon said, smiling. “We'll see you soon. Yes. Good bye.”

Dorian sighed, smiling a little. “I can't wait to tease him,” he said happily, and Mahanon smiled wide.

oOo

The flight from Val Royeaux arrived right on time, and Cullen waved as he saw Krem. Krem whistled as he walked over, looking him up and down. Cullen spread his arms with a wry smile, ignoring how it pulled at the split on his lip. It was nothing compared to the scar he already had, but it was annoying.

“You weren't kidding,” Krem said, setting his bag down to gently turn Cullen's head back and forth, looking him over carefully. “That's a hell of a shiner you've got. You put peas on it, right?”

Cullen nodded. “Peas, steak, the whole gamut. Whatever I had. This is after the swelling's gone down some, even. I expect it'll be quite a while before I don't look like I went overboard with some eyeshadow. The lip's not as bad as it looks.” 

“Good.” Krem kissed the corner without the split, and Cullen couldn't help his smile. He pulled back, blushing, and took his bag from him. “Where are Dalish and Skinner?”

“They decided to stay another day and have a second honeymoon,” Krem said, rolling his eyes. “We're free and clear, since those two are probably bathing in champagne or something equally ridiculous. Just have to grab my bags and we're good to go, because you have a some gifts to unwrap.”

Cullen took his hand, squeezing it, and Krem ducked his head as if he could hide his smile. Baggage claim didn't take long, and as Cullen started his car he felt a bit of stress he carried slip away. Humming to himself, he pulled out and headed to the exit. Krem took his free hand with a contented sigh, and Cullen grinned helplessly. 

“You know, I've never had a boyfriend,” he told Krem. “Or a girlfriend, really. I've dated a bit, but... I don't think I've ever felt like this. I don't think I've ever been excited to go to the airport, for one thing. And I don't think I've ever stayed up thinking about someone I liked. Which I might have done last night.”

Krem squeezed his hand. “You're fucking adorable.”

“And here I thought it was the other way around,” Cullen said, grinning at him, “with you taking charge and all.”

Krem rolled his eyes, and Cullen laughed as they got on the road.

oOo

Krem groaned, tipping his head back as Cullen kissed down the stretch of it to nose at his collarbone, bags forgotten on the floor. “Needy,” he teased, and Cullen growled against his skin.

It was a nice change, letting someone at him rather than taking all the control and initiative. Too many issues with his body had made it so that he rarely let anyone have their way, so to speak. But Cullen had been nothing but careful and attentive to anything that upset him and it was wonderful to let go for a moment to be practically worshiped. Cullen's hands slid down his sides, gripping his hips tight, and Krem's fingers knotted in Cullen's thick hair to hold him in place while he worried a bruise into his skin.

He pushed his hips forward, insistent, and tugged sharply at Cullen's hair. Time to get things back in order.

“I think there's something a little more fun you could be doing with your mouth,” he purred, and Cullen shuddered with want before dropping to his knees. Krem tapped his jaw and Cullen looked up, pupils blown wide with lust. 

“This is a good look on you,” he mused, and Cullen leaned into his hand. “I wouldn't mind seeing you like this more often.”

“I wouldn't mind being like this more often,” Cullen said, and had just reached up to flick open Krem's button when the phone in Krem's pocket buzzed insistently. 

Krem groaned, pulling it out and answering. 

“Chief,” he said dryly. “I'm a little busy.”

“ _Heard you were back_ ,” Bull said, without a trace of apology. “ _I was a little hurt you didn't call as soon as you landed._ ” He sounded downright gleeful, and Krem rubbed his forehead as Cullen tried not to laugh.

“Everything went fine, there were no issues, I handled everything without a problem, I picked up the package, Skinner and Dalish didn't get into any trouble and loved the hotel, I bought you a dawnstone vase, and I'd really like to let my man get back to the task at hand,” Krem said all in a rush. His eyes widened as Cullen's eyes got a spark of mischief in them, and his jaw outright dropped as he leaned forward to catch Krem's zipper in his teeth and ever so gently pull it down.

Bull laughed on the other end of the phone as Krem bit his lip to keep from moaning. “ _In a hurry there?_ ”

“You could say that,” he managed, a little strangled. “Kinda in the middle of something here, chief.”

“ _I'll let you get back to who you're doing._ ”

“Wow, subtle,” Krem growled, flicking Cullen's hands away from his beltloops on sheer principle. Cullen grinned up at him, all wickedness. “How long have you been waiting to use that one?”

“ _At least a couple weeks,_ ” Bull said cheerfully.

“You're terrible. I'm hanging up now.”

“ _Have fun_ ,” Bull laughed, and Krem tossed the phone aside.

“Terrible cockblock of a man,” Krem muttered, making Cullen laugh, and Krem ran his hand through Cullen's hair again. “How are your ribs?”

Cullen grimaced. “Not bad?”

“Right,” Krem drawled. “Because the big, burly ex-templar would never undersell how much pain he was feeling, I'm sure. Alright, up. Much as I like you down there, I'd rather have you on my bed, so off we go.”

Cullen heaved out an aggrieved sigh, standing up. “This is my punishment from Bull for yesterday.”

“If you're thinking about Bull's more than mine, I'm really doing something wrong,” Krem said, and Cullen laughed as Krem pulled him to the bedroom.


End file.
